


To The One Who Chooses The King

by Anonymous



Category: One Piece
Genre: Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit, Amorality, Animal Transformation, Attempt at Humor, Blackmail, Blood Brothers, Canon Divergent, Denial, Drabble Collection, Dragons, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, F/F, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Flirting, For the most part, Friends to Lovers, Haki (One Piece), Loyalty, M/M, Male Reader-Insert, Misunderstandings, Monster Trio (One Piece), Multi, Mutual Pining, Mythical Zoan: Kirin Kirin no Mi, Mythology - Freeform, Obliviousness, Obsessive Behavior, One Piece Pre-Canon Era, One Piece Spoilers, One-Sided Relationship, Other, Overpowered characters, Overprotectiveness, Platonic Relationships, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Rare Pairings, Rebirth, Reincarnation, Reverse Harem, Romance, Self-Indulgent, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn, Threesome - M/M/M, Unreliable Narrator, Worldbuilding, forgetful reader, gender neutral reader, male reader - Freeform, references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-06-10 03:38:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 33,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15282750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Apparently, you were not fated to die, so you get to go on an adventure to appease your soul's desire. Reborn into the world of One Piece with the Kirin Kirin Devil Fruit, the possibilities are endless....Now, how did the story go again?In other words - a self-indulgent Mythical Zoan Devil Fruit story. Worldbuilding, rare pairings & male!reader abound





	1. anamnesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We could have been so great. If only, if only..._

His smile haunts your steps, and you dream often of the past and better days. Some would say that dwelling on the past was bad for you - but you had nothing left of _him_ but memories, so who could fault you for doing so?

 

 _Ah_ , you muse, looking up at the starry night sky - _how did this all start again? And when did I grow up into who I am now?_

 

* * *

 

You wake, hearing the call of seagulls and the soft sand under you and the gentle lapping of waves.

 

 **Wait** \- _sand? The sea?_

 

Stumbling upright, you take in your surroundings. Pale sand, calm ocean waters and thick fronds of some undergrowth that led deeper into the jungle from the beach that you woke up at.

 

The sky is bright, the sun rising up to noon's height, and the world smells so alive and rich in way you had never experienced back on Earth. Earth was a polluted thing, fouled by human greed and selfishness. This world... is not, in some way you cannot explain.

 

In the distance, you could see the serpentine tail of some sea creature slipping into the depths of the endless ocean and you confirm the fact that this is not your world. The serpentine beast - _a Sea King_ , your mind supplied helpfully, and you inhale sharply.

 

_Holy shit._

 

Oh God. That... that dream was real then. You had died - and some being( _God? Benevolent? Bored? Guilty?_ ) gave you a second chance to be reborn into a world of your choosing - and you had picked one that would give you freedom _and_ \- and... this is it eh?

 

The world of 'One Piece'.

 

Apart from your initial outburst, you don't panic, something you allude to your calm disposition and logical nature. After all, what good would panicking do?

 

You recall biting into the foul flesh of the Devil Fruit in your dream, yet when the sea-spray touches your skin, you do not feel the expected drain of energy. Just a mild sleepiness, like the end of an adrenaline rush.

 

A part of you thinks that perhaps that's what it all was - a dream, and you never really did get a Devil Fruit - yet there is a niggling feeling in you that promises that _no_ , a god never broke their promise.

 

Is this one of the benefits of your Devil Fruit? 

 

 _Immunity to the sea?_ You wish it so.

 

The Mythical Zoan: Kirin Kirin no Mi. _A_   _Devil_ _Fruit_ _that_ _made_ _you_ _more_ _than_ _human_ , the divine being had murmured to you as you chose reincarnation -

 

 _An intriguing prospect_ , you think - but you aren't stupid enough to test your potential invulnerability to water out. Too dangerous, when you didn't even know your wherabouts.

 

...You still wonder whether you are immune to seastone though.

 

Ah well, you'd figure that out when you got the chance, since there's no point worrying 'bout it now. First thing's first: Where were you and how could you secure a safe place to live in and learn how to use your new Devil Fruit?

 

With that in mind set off to find civilisation, walking in no particular direction(just trusting your gut instinct) - and hopefully you'd be able to get a job and some information on where you were and what point of the timeline you were currently in before you planned your next actions.

 

You weren't stupid after all.

 

* * *

 

You don't find much, but you understand it to be the time before the Great Pirate Age started, seeing as News Coos didn't exist, or weren't _that_ widespread yet, so it's a plus. 

 

Plenty of time to prepare for the incoming storm...

 

(- _and contrary to popular belief and fiction, being reborn into a fictional wasn't always filled with adventure and danger. It's more of a relaxing walk that splits off into various paths. Getting involved, is always your choice._ )

 


	2. lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Wanonese believe the Kirin to appear in times of a wise and benevolent ruler. To meet one destines the person to good fortune. It is a holy creature, and the most powerful and divine - above even the Phoenix and Dragon -_

  
Life is boring.

 

You find civilisation in the form of a village of rather large humans(-  _by Earth standards, but were probably the norm here_ ). 

 

An old man took you in(- _he was one of the rare ones that was of your old Earth's height_ ) - gave you food and shelter in exchange for simple labour - allowing you to experience a simple lifestyle without the stress of modern day.

 

The man is known as Ryuuma. _Ryuu_ , to you. He calls you Kirin. It was the first thing that slipped from your mouth when he asked your name.

 

Ryuu smelt of ancient fire and blood - a warrior to the core. He is retired, but a swordsman all the same.

 

Life now was like a farming simulation complete with relationship building and events; like Stardew Valley, except replace the magic with Devil Fruits and a Japanese theme.

 

On your spare time you take to testing out your Devil Fruit powers, deep within the jungles of this nameless( _not really, you just can't be bothered to remember its name_ ) - island somewhere on the Grand Line(-as the villagers had helpfully informed you), where no man wandered in fear of the beasts that lurked within. Said villagers mostly consumed seafood, grain and vegetables, not wanting to risk death needlessly.

 

To your surprise, the animals that lived within the forest did not attack you, perhaps sensing your innate power or the fact that you are a Kirin - respected and seen as untouchable by their kind. They never turn against you, seemingly seeing you as a God of sorts, and maybe to them you are - a bridge between humanity and not.

 

...Or maybe it was the fact that you often fought and won against them on a regular basis during your training sessions.

 

Whatever. You prefer attributing it to your Devil Fruit following the mythology of a Kirin. It made things more mystical.

 

~~_Oh, how little you knew -_ ~~

 

It was a pity that you had little way to improve the elemental abilities you knew you had - working on theories on what was and was supposedly impossible could only get you so far, no matter what others claimed.

 

 _Using_ your abilities is easy. ( _God, the swathes of destruction you could cause, the devastation that wrecked the land when a power got out of control_ -) **Mastering** it is not. You take to staying in your Kirin form in hopes of improving your skills and as an excuse to avoid civilisation - especially after a mishap that _nearly_ got your benefactor killed.

 

It seemed only right that a dragon could survive a lightning strike. But his left eye is gone, charred to a husk.

 

( _Once you are sure Ryuu would be fine, you retreat - you do not flee - into the forest, wishing to forget the world around you._ )

 

Surely no one wants to approach a monster. Surely they would flee as proven countless times(- _humans feared the unknown, the difference, never forgave_ ) - you can't help but imagine the phantom hatred running icy claws down your back -

 

 _But_ , but, the villagers are generous still even after that - leaving you offerings of food and even built a nice place for you to _live in._

 

The abode was fashioned like a shrine, complete with handcarved sculptures of mythical beasts and painstakingly carved scriptures in the beautiful language of ponegylphs(-  _Ryuuma had taught you how to read the language well. The skill for carving said Poneglyphs was offered and taught as a reward after a mission well done - courtesy of some official or the other_.) 

 

Ryuuma had risked the dangers of the jungles in his injured state to bring you this news, so you don't decline this gift. Bitter regret burns in you at the sight of his scarred eye, and nothing short of restoring his full sight would ever make you forgive yourself for this sin.

 

Assuming this to be the norm of buildings for people of this seemingly Japanese-yet-not culture, you don't protest the help.

 

( _It's not till much, much later that you find out that was actually a shrine dedicated to their deity; you._)

 

Ryuuma then tells you a tale of dragonslaying and betrayal, but he vows that he would not cut you down, despite being a hunter, despite _everything_.

 

You sense the sincerity in his voice, his _touch_ as he ran callused hands across your scaled cheek and you want to _cry_.

 

 _You healed me; saved my life -_  he whispered reverently to your rebuffs(- _I caused those injuries; I am weak_ -). _Your Will is strong_ , Ryuu continued, but does not try to follow you when you slunk back into the depths of the jungle.

 

You don't know whether to thank or dislike him for that. 

 

Why? _Why is he so forgiving? Why are they so nice to you?_ You don't deserve this. Was this some stupid anime effect? Humans weren't known for forgiveness, realistically.

 

You... _can't_ understand this strangeness. Just like the way you never understood that strange elephant that walked the world to pay for its 'sins' and the beautiful, wild tribe that lived upon its back.

 

~~_When did you become so blind and cynical?_ ~~

 

If your guilt takes the form of you giving the people of this land protection where you could, no one says a thing. You can't help everyone of course; you were not omnipotent after all.

 

Yet those folks don't blame you. They seem so _stupidly_ happy. Even the fucking _shogun_ minds not. 

 

( _Stay with us, he pleads with gifts of gold and precious stones. This country of Gold is only so with you -_ )

 

This affirms your decision in leaving the lands. It was a peaceful place, should you choose to live out the rest of your life, but your heart is restless, your soul wanting something more.

 

You want to utilise your skills as you knew you should be able to; to better yourself; to seek your dreams.

 

 ~~To find your King.~~  In reality, you know you have no place here, not after what you had done. Even if people forgot, you would still live with fear of losing control, of waking up to a ravaged land and charred bodies; dreams( _visions, nightmares_ ) of the sea turning **_red_** -

 

Then one day, one day, the birds bring news of an armada of ships heading your way - to this island.

 

 _Not a pirate crew_ , a gull cawed, echoed in agreement by the bobbing heads of its countless brethren. _Too white. Painted and fake. Blue wings without freedom,_ another explained.

 

You nod in understanding. Government. Marines. _Law and Order._  Your lip curls in disgust.

 

Liars. They were here to subjugate the people under the fold of higher authorities, not to shake hands and make merry.

 

But you don't need to be involved with all this. _You can leave anytime._ You...

 

You don't look up in the direction of the shogun's palace, surrounded by cherry trees, instead staring into the distant horizon and imagining how cannon-fire would be like, how the world would surely be painted grey like your dreams and Ryuuma's encouraging smile and you make your decision.

 

* * *

 

This is your burden to bear. 

 

You make sure to keep everything under wraps, going about your daily routines and setting up defences where you could.

 

It's not to say that the place you ended up at lacked security - _oh no, they were chock full of ninjas and traps_ \- but few could beat an actual thunder storm into submission, much less calm the waves if it chose to revolt at the wrong moment.

 

Your benefactor sees all, but he does not stop you. He knows you need to do this - and in your place, he would have done the same. Had done the same too, even before you arrived to these lands.

 

Bandits and wildlife were no match for you, but these newcomers who braved the seas just might - so you accept Ryuuma's help. 

 

In a honesty you cannot deny him, not when he was the one who taught you so much; not when his scars remind you of your mistakes -

 

You could be unlucky. Maybe bump into an Admiral, hesitate in battle(- _because humans were so very different from other races and killing was not something you were used to_ ) - or die horribly but that's just paranoia talking, really.

 

You have been very, _very_ lucky. Almost _too_ lucky to be natural.

 

Maybe that would change this time 'round?

 

No matter. You would keep your promises either way, even if it killed you. Ryuuma showed you that much at least.

 

Not wanting to lose control, you try to limit your powers, to hold back - but you fail, miserably.

 

All you need to do is envision the power flow through you, the energy gathering within your being - but it is no refined thing. It is always too much or too weak, reflecting your fears, insecurity, deep-set loneliness and confusion(- _all alone, nowhere to go, secretly wanting acceptance_ ) - not even Ryuuma's reassurance could help.

 

The method to proper control evades you like wind through your fingers.

 

* * *

 

The massacre(- _not battle, keep that in mind_ -) starts with only a whistle in the wind as dawn breaks.

 

A man and a beast of legend stand side by side, watching the distant ships glide over the horizon, foolishly, _foolishly_ \- to their doom.

 

You hear the slight scrape of a blade being drawn, removed from its sheath and turn to see Ryuuma's draconian smile. His greying hair gains a sheen of silver in the light, like an ancient dragon's scaled hide, while his missing eye was covered in a embroided eyepatch of black and gold that shimmered like a king's crown - and points his blade to the approaching ships.

 

A baring of fangs.

 

_~~For King and country.~~ _

 

 **Heat** , fiery and hot like the sun builds in your chest, and lightning crackles around your fire-laced hooves -

 

 _Your eyes are like scarlet polished with gold_ , Ryuu tells you later as he partook in a cup of celebratory sake - a minute thing compared to yours - a large, ornate sakazuki of glossy porcelain which you sipped delicately at.

 

\- the overcast sky  _twists_ to howling winds and rain - reflecting your inner turmoil and eagerness to let loose, vaguely noting Ryuu's howling laughter as he danced across the ocean like a skipping stone and cut down many a ship with fury befitting a **King**.

 

Beautiful. If only Ryuuma would acknowledge himself as a King though - then maybe, _maybe -_

 

You come to your senses, scenting the ozone in the breeze, mingling with the salt-spray; the rain sliding off your scaled hide, washing away the ash that stained your hooves and evaporating on contact with your fiery mane; of people prostrating themselves before you, reverence, fear and worship steeped in their very bones; the echos of the would-be invaders' screams ringing in your ears - Ryuuma's commiserative, knowing grimace of a smile.

 

People continued treating you like a hero, a God, a higher being that you were anything _but_.

 

Like a Celestial Dragon.

 

 _Doing more harm than good -_ you muse bitterly. You are no fool to see that the weather surrounding the lands were permanently changed to something far more dangerous - _typhoon and thunderstorm, raging sea and -_ and no matter how favourable this was to you, you curse and mourn your stupid, selfish foolishness for damning these kind souls to death.

 

A major part of you finds beauty in these natural disasters and you fight the urge to give in to that wilder side that demands more _more_ **_more_**.

 

You can't reverse things. These folks are cut off from the outside world with no return - unless you were not human or had immense endurance and luck. But perhaps you could ensure their self-sufficiency permanantly. Perhaps.

 

* * *

  
The people that live here are hardy. They adapt easily, and you are pleased. ( _Not so much at the way their worshipful eyes turn to you when you are graced by their presence though_.)

 

You have your goals; knowledge on how to utilise - _control_ \- your Devil Fruit, and there was such a place - **Ohara**. It was a far cry trying to find a land that might not even exist yet, but one could hope, right? Surely the scholars there should have some clue on how to use your Devil Fruit!

 

But then you remember that Ohara, should it exist in this era - is probably a long way across the sea, and you are without a map or directions and you have no clue of the geography of this world whatsoever.

 

...It doesn't stop you from leaving though.

 

* * *

  
Slipping away on the back of a flock of migrating bird-snakes(- _they wished to commence their flight across the globe, so you gave your protection in exchange for a path away from the Hell you created_ ), you are _gone_ before the first moon cycle after that incident. ~~Yes, you are a coward. You still can't bear to meet any of them face to face for more than a few moments. Ryuuma is your representative for the most part. Watching the villagers from a distant point was much better.~~

 

You take no one; bringing only the necessities with you. 

 

Stretching out your senses - the basic form of Observation Haki as you later learnt - you sense the odd tang of _tears-grief-confusion_ that makes you retract back, nostrils flaring in denial.

 

You must be mistaken.

 

You are certain the villagers were rejoicing the departure of their walking disaster. Why else would they be crying then, if not out of happiness?

 

( _You don't ever notice Ryuuma's lonely form watching you as you left._ )


	3. enlightenment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This time around, you'll have all the time in the world_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *major edits have been given to the previous chapter, so please do check it out.

The scholars welcome you with open arms, eager to make new discoveries with their new find. Perhaps sensing that you meant them no harm, they help you learn how to control your powers and are willing to find various techniques for you to strengthen yourself and fine-tune your abilities...

 

\- **or that is what you _wish_ you could say.**

 

There is no Ohara, because the land you found yourself in -  _it is not Ohara_.

 

Life is not as smooth as some stories make it out to be. To be able to find the land of knowledge is not an easy task.

 

You stretch out your senses, breathing deeply.

 

You had made sure to travel far, far away from  _that land,_ to someplace where no one would know you.

 

Past lands of volcanic ash and storms, past fantastical lands of giants, monsters and civilisations flourishing atop massive beasts to _here_.

 

Where _'here'_ is, you don't know, trusting in the promise of the animals that brought you to this place. The air here is _pure_ \- something you enjoy. In your past life, the earth was polluted, and such clear, sweet air was a long-gone dream. Even the faint scent of lingering fire and something ancient steeped into the very lands serve to add into the allure of this place.

 

There is nothing major here though. Only a wild jungle and its fauna - and the strange, overarching bones of some majestic creature, fallen to the sands on time.

 

Perhaps you would find out in time.

 

Perhaps not.

 

...You don't mind.

 

You have all the time in the world after all. ~~Such was the blessing of an immortal.~~

 

* * *

 

The wingbeats of a thousand, _no_ , countless beasts rouse you from your sleep.

 

You look up and see the sun get blotted out from the multitude of reptilian shapes that filled the air - and your breathing _stutters_.

 

Dragons. Honest to gods _dragons_. 

 

Larger than life, coated in shimmering feathers of emerald sea-foam to _iridescent_ white - and you suddenly understand where the origin of that ancient _ash-fire-life_ scent came from.

 

Why it reminded you so much of Ryuuma; ~~home~~.

 

The little kid inside you jumps for joy at the sight of these majestic creatures, but you, as an adult, only smiles widely in anticipation.

 

* * *

 

You too owe the dragons a debt. While your meeting with the Ohara's scholars later on gave you theories on your abilities and allowed you to gain more insight, the dragons taught you how to use your skills, connect with nature, be one with the earth and the intricacies of positive and negative energy.

 

It is with them that you learn the intricacies of being a Kirin. 

 

Such a lucky life you've led; to be able to meet, befriend and be taught by beasts of legends.

 

"You are the one who chooses the King."

 

"That's a daunting task," you confessed. "What if I mess up? How do I know who to choose?" _What if I don't want to? What gives me the right to judge others? Am I not human under all this?_

 

"You stopped being human the moment you accepted the Fruit. Mythical Zoan Devil Fruits are mysterious things." The feathered dragon smiles, but you're not intimidated by the sheer number of his teeth, for you knew that he meant you no harm.

 

_You are a dragon, they tell you - and you will bow before none but -_

 

"You will know. It is a part of your instincts - _a burdened blessing of sorts_ \- that will call out to you when the person with all the right conditions arrives. There's no need to feet about it, really. But keep in mind that your powers depend on the King you choose. Your true potential will be unlocked when you decide upon a sovereign. However, should they be weak, expect yourself to be underpowered."

 

You nod in resignation. Every Devil Fruit had a weakness after all, and it was only to be expected that such a useful Fruit had a rather annoying one like this. 

 

_Then what happens if I choose no one-?_

 

The dragon answered, as though reading your mind. "It will be a harsh path, if you choose no King, but this is your life; how you govern it is not my place to interfere."

 

"I'll wait and see then." You decided. "No point deciding when I haven't experienced anything yet."

 

An approving grin encourages your resolve.

 

* * *

 

Their guidance, along with the words of your brethren(- _the Kirin is a subspecies of dragon too; an Elder_ -) are etched in your mind; precious history and knowledge; forgotten and forbidden, the balance of yin and yang, positive and negative, how to dispel darkness and bestow blessings, heal and destroy - are all offered to you. 

 

It is with them that you learn how to shift and transform properly - from human to beast, to a in between of sorts and back to human, if need be.

 

Unsurprisingly, you prefer your Kirin form. An amalgamation of various creatures; animals harmonised into a single being - the perfect fusion, in your opinion.

 

"Your bestial form is more connected to the natural energy of the world, so it's a given that you enjoy it more. The _V_ _oice_ calls out to those like us after all." The dragon's voice is like the gentle morning breeze, and you nod, your antlers glinting in the moonlight.

 

Decades - _even centuries perhaps(you don't keep track)_ \- was spent with them, journeying, seeing the world, allowing and destroying life - forming a home on the Dragon's Nest, having a hand in raising dragon-brood - those were memorable times.

 

Surprisingly, you don't age, no - your face is as youthful as the day you arrived in this world, but you are far wiser than whom you were back then.

 

You don't keep track of the timeline; forget the finer details of the story - _even your own tale starts becoming muddled in your mind_ \- after a while, but that's fine, because you were here not to fix things, not to live for another's sake but to learn how to _live for yourself._

 

Mayhaps that would come to bite you in time, for forgetting the details(- _because even the tiniest detail mattered in One Piece for everything made a butterfly effect no matter how seemingly insignificant_  -) but you could be forgiven. After all, one couldn't be expected to memorise the finer details of more than twenty years of one manga, no matter how wonderful a story it came to be.

 

Besides, who was to say that things would follow the story-line? You, who was never meant to exist, _now existed -_

 

...Thinking back about it, you can't exactly pinpoint the day when you gained an understanding over your powers, but maybe it had always been there, growing alongside you.

 

Using your skills didn't require much thought anyways - it was something that came to you naturally; intuitive, like breathing, no conscious thought was required, merely the **_want_ ** \- _an imagination_ \- and your powers would shift as you desired. You wonder whether this was how other Zoan users felt.

 

Still, you aren't arrogant enough to think that you had mastered anything, because everything had room for improvement, as always - and arrogant was every man's downfall.

 

( _During your travels with the Millennium dragons, you learn of the past Kirin Fruit users' encounters with the dragons and more. Unknowingly, you carve out your own legend, becoming known as the manifestation of lightning to the superstitious, and even as a benevolent spirit to those in need. But that's to be elaborated in another time._

_For now, we rest_.)


	4. savant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like_

When you think back about it, it was silly, how long it took for you to realise that the reason as to why you could not utilise your abilities to the fullest was due to your temperament and mindset.

 

To be able to use a Devil Fruit properly meant that you had to believe in the impossible, dive into the unknown and accept the mysteries of the world.

 

The dragons wanted you to discover this on your own, and you did, sometime when watching the full moon rise and the tide reflect its actions.

 

Calm. _You must have peace in your heart - and never anger, lest you lose control of the storm that dwells within you -_ those words were one of the rare documents you managed to find about your Devil Fruit; written by a man who once used the Fruit itself.

 

( _Meditation calms you, Ryuuma mused_ -) It made sense, for the myths that spoke of the Kirin said it to be a benevolent beast that harmed no innocents or wildlife - but created total carnage once angered, but you were sure that there was plenty of exaggeration in it.

 

After all, not all animals could communicate with you - only the ones with more sapience. Those that had a feral brain would stay away if only for their continued survival. Nothing like a lightning bolt to deter potential attackers -

 

They could still be subjugated under your Will though - small mercies, in your eyes.

 

* * *

 

You start to think there is a connection to you meeting new faces whenever the Dragon's Nest arose from the sea when you picked up the presence of multiple human lifeforms approaching.

 

You _Se_ _nse_  the incoming ship before you see it.

 

( _Observation Haki is a useful skill_.)

 

It is a small thing, painted like a nondescript fishing hull, reminding you of exploration ships with the way it was shaped for reconnaissance and it's bland scent. The lack of firepower it had confirmed that the vessel was not for pirating - and when the ship finally came to sight, you felt something untense in you at the figures of rather mild-mannered folk carrying the scent of old tomes and ink - some manning the ship, while others scribbled down notes and observations of their surroundings.

 

Carefully, you send out a subtle wave of Observation Haki over them.

 

 _[Inquisitive-curious-pleased-impatient] -_ but mostly importantly, no harmful intent.

 

Wingbeats draw your attention to the massive figure of the draconian leader that took residence here.

 

"Sennen-sama," you greet your mentor and friend politely. "Strangers approach." - _what is your decision?_

 

"It is your choice. I have faith in your judgment." The dragon replies, piercing blue eyes observing you.

 

...Alright. You can do this. No pressure.

 

You step out from the shoreline, testing your footing for a moment before you _step_ onto the water, crossing it like solid land in bounding steps.

 

It's not till you see the scholars gaping and backing away from you that you realise that you're in your Kirin form - and probably seemed like some angered beast about to rid of the intruders in your territory - but it's too late.

 

_"GYAAAAAAH!"_

 

* * *

 

Your ears ring unpleasantly, stemming from the fact that you didn't quite get to retract your Observational Haki in time for the most cowardly one to scream, which had set off the others like a load of firecrackers.

 

"Ehm, sorry for misunderstanding, Kirin-san..." The boldest one who had introduced himself as Clover apologised; he was the lead of this expedition team, as he had clarified once everything had calmed down.

 

The man was broad-backed and heavily muscled; were he on Earth, he would have been considered a top-class bodybuilder, his height reaching the flank of your bestial form(- _which was roughly the size of a prime Sennenryu hatchling and still growing_ ).

 

One thing that separated him from regular folk and yet again proved that anime physics were a _thing_ was not his size, but the strange growth of his facial and regular hair that had somehow been fashioned and _stayed_ in its form that brought to mind of a three-leaved clover at first sight. 

 

You can't help but wonder whether he shaped his hairstyle for his namesake or whether it actually _grew_  that way.

 

Ah, the little mysteries of life.

 

Luckily, his hair was a soothing shade of green, like fresh meadows and grassy fields, else you would have set it on fire out of being a sheer eyesore.

 

"Nay, I am partly to blame as well," You chuffed, dismissing Clover's fears with a flick of your tail.

 

These scholars were apparently here to record some data on the legendary Dragon's Nest, which was a major point of interest for it only surfaced once every thousand years - and most importantly, home to the mythical race of Sennenryu, a race of dragons whose flesh and blood was said to give immortality to the consumer.

 

But oh, how little they knew, how they did not know that unless properly handled, the Sennenryu's flesh-blood-bone elixir would only **_boil_** the user inside out in the best case scenario or transform them into some hideous amalgamation of something that should have never been. 

 

"What do _you_ desire to gain from this place?" You queried as they finished their explanations.

 

_Immortality? Wealth? Fame?_

 

"Knowledge." Clover claimed, to his comrades' agreement.

 

You cock your head, peering into his eyes - your Will waiting, _daring_ for any falsehoods to roll off the man's tongue.

 

"Knowledge is power." You rumbled in a voice like distant thunder, "- what do you seek power for?"

 

To the man's credit, he did not falter under your Haki-infused words(- _even if said infusion was a minuscule thing_ ).

 

"To find out about the history of the world. To learn from the past and never commit the mistakes we had made once upon a time; to seek the untold history and provide countermeasures so that the future is certain." A pause. "We seek no harm. Only an understanding of what once was and may _be."_

 

" _W-_ w- _we_ are historians after all!" A timid voice spoke out, squeaking when you glanced at him. "F-from the l-land of knowledge - _Ohara!_ "

 

 _Ah,_ no wonder. You stare at the speaker - the one who had screamed first; losing his nerve so easily, yet was so willing to stand up for his goals.

 

 _"Ohara."_ You test the word out on your tongue, and Clover nods.

 

"Ohara," he affirmed. "Have you ever heard of it?" He wonders aloud.

 

_\- all-consuming fire and the knowledge of the world reduced to ash -_

 

You shake your head, hiding your unease with a carefully bland expression.

 

 _I see._ ~~( _No, no you don't_.~~ ) "I give you my blessings then, historians of Ohara."

 

_....you'll need it._

 

Clover grinned in relief _(-?)_ , bowing deeply - his crew following suit.

 

"Thank you," he gushes, sincere and honest. His eyes are warm when he rises to meet your gold ones.

 

"We'll be in your care then, Kirin-san."

 

* * *

 

\- and so you gain human companionship for a time.

 

Guiding these archaeologists around the island, conversing, trading tales and information - allowing yourself to indulge, but not too much, lest you become _too_ fond of them.

 

It's very nice, actually. You never thought you could get on so well despite both parties knowing so little about each other.

 

Maybe that's all one needs; shared interests and open-mindedness.

 

...Maybe that's all we need.

 

* * *

 

"You seek to decipher the Ponegylphs?"

 

"You know of them?"

 

You shrug wordlessly, pawing some firewood into the campfire just to watch the tiny fire salamanders within skitter about. They are mindless things, gathering in places that were rich in ash and fire like this land - but are harmless to you, you who feasts on fire and lightning.

 

Clover knows better than to push. He takes the dismissal and rambles on about other things instead - on the founding of Ohara(- _you've heard that twice already_ ), the theories of Ponegylphs and of a legendary island(- _marked by an 'X' formed by four 'X's_ ) and of lost islands, drifting high up in the sky and of a palace deep in the ocean said to be guarded by a dragon god.

 

They sound familiar(- _fairytales all do when you think about it -_ )

 

\- and a part of you wonders whether all explorers were dreamers at heart.

 

* * *

   
The historians depart a month later, gifting you a telescope and a eternal pose to Ohara, which you stored carefully in your base back on Warship Island.

 

You make a promise with Clover to visit Ohara - once you had better grasp of your powers, or so you told yourself. There was a feeling - something that told you that _now was not the time to act yet,_ and you listen, because you would be a foolish beast to go against instinct, no?

 

For now, you stay on the island of dragons - where you found company in mythical beasts of legend.

 

( _The men leave, richer with priceless knowledge, vowing to keep you a secret, but rumours still leak, and tales are spun_.)

 


	5. permute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Life is routine - boring. But this all changes when you meet him._

Shipwrecks were nothing new, especially after a heavy storm.

 

The thunderstorm had been beneficial to you, allowing you more freedom with harnessing the elements and going all out without worry of others discovering you.

 

The scent of after rain is a soothing thing, and you wander over to the newest wreckage, inspecting the ruins with a critical eye. You muse on the possibilities of an island of lightning existing; if it did, you'd truly be unstoppable( _and unnoticed_ ) there, in the land of storms. 

 

But that was neither here nor there.

 

The winds _whisper_ of a change, and you are brimming with anticipation; your imagination overflowing.

 

Would there be any survivors?

**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

               There is one, trapped under the debris that the tide brought in.

 

His breathing is steady; heartbeat strong - his skin tanned from the sun's rays, looking to the world like a sleeping boy rather than some half-drowned sod.

 

You couldn't help but feel some form of compassion for this unconscious lad; death would be a pity for this person, especially when he had survived for so long. Anyone who could endure a thunderstorm and wash up on the Dragon's Nest during the scant years it surfaced was no ordinary person, surely.

 

 _He is blessed with Lady Luck and the Devil's,_ you muse when you inspect him for injuries - and note that apart from some shallow cuts that had scabbed over, light bruising and a mild fever, the stranger was in good health.

 

Well, this was a good time as any to test out your healing abilities and improve your skills. You weren't one to kill innocent, unconscious folk for entering your territory after all.

 

With your powers, trouble would find you, one way or the other - so more practice never hurt anyone, you reasoned.

 

Besides, doing a good deed every now and then wouldn't hurt.

 

These were the thoughts that filled your mind as you brought the unconscious boy and his straw hat back to your humble abode; a simple cottage house that you had repaired for you to store your goods and on the rare occasions you took human form.

 

You had never entertained guests other than those archaeologists years ago, and never in your human form, but you were certain that all would be well. 

 

After healing his injuries - which were thankfully superficial(- _unfortunately, you could not cure fevers or colds for some reason, only hasten the process of the immune system fighting back_  -), you settle down by his side, closing your eyes and feeling the flow of energies in the air around you with your senses - the slow heartbeats of the resting male - _meditating_.

 

Meditating was a useful form of regaining energy, and served you well as sleeping did, and it had the bonus effect of leaving you energised and aware of your surroundings no matter how relaxed you were.

 

* * *

 

"Whoa..."

 

A _human(boy; teen's)_  voice breathed in awe, breaking you from your meditative trance.

 

The speaker was far too close to comfort, but you _sensed_ no harm, so you forwent the urge to lash out; watching him with circumspection.

 

You note with mild shame that this is the first time a _'regular person'_ caught you unaware.

 

 _But you aren't truly normal, are you?_ Your timeless eyes gazed at him, reflecting the teen's void black eyes. He goggled at you for a moment before a bright smile breaks across his face - fearless and completely disarming you with how _guileless_ it was.

 

His soul is like a shining beacon of light, and you wonder how you've never noticed it before.

 

 _So unlike the majority._ Maybe that's why you let down your guard with him subconsciously, never noticing how he sneaked under your radar - rooting his place in your heart over time.

 

The lack of fear and incessant worship... It is an interesting experience.

 

"So cool!" The teen gushed - dark eyes alight with joy at his discovery, but you could not sense an inkling of greed or selfishness within him - which was rather strange.

 

It's not an unwelcome discovery, just... unusual. _~~If you could have met such a man in your old life, you could have reached such great heights -~~_

 

"Hey, you're the one that helped me, right?" The lad asked with a tilt of his straw hat, gesturing at the remains of the shipwreck then at himself.

 

You blinked and nodded slowly, pawing the ground as you stood up, yawning.

 

Strange child. Speaking so confidently, treating you like an equal, as though he knew that you could understand him and was not some beast that stumbled upon him.

 

 _The Voice of the World,_ but the thought is gone in another breath. No matter.

 

"Thank you - I'm in your debt then. Do you live here? It seems like a cool place y'know - kind of quiet, but I guess you'd prefer it that way, huh?"

 

You shrugged.

 

"Hm. Well, 's there anything to do around here? What's this place anyways?"

 

So many questions. Were all humans like that? You can't be bothered to think too deep, but the Ohara scholars were similar, if somewhat more... _subtle_. This lad was like a child, blunt and demanding, not backing down easily(- _but so pure, like a breath of fresh air_ ).

 

 _Dragon's Nest,_ you think, pointing to a cluster of bones and a bleached white skull of a dragon long dead with a flick of your tail.

 

The teen nodded sagely and grinned. " _That's awesome!_ .... So are we going to find our missing princess here?"

 

 _Since when did the Millennium Dragons kidnap princesses?_ You frown at the strange question and shook your head. _No. You are going to **rest** , and I will be taking care of you._

 

The other pouted.

 

(... _And that meeting, was when your world changed._ )


	6. king

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Freedom will steal you from the reins and bring you away, far, far away -_

 

It all starts with a simple question;  _what is your name?_

 

The casual question falls from your lips; sounded in a deep rumble with your fully transformed state, like an approaching storm - and the male takes it all in stride; unfearing, foolishly so.

 

( _He's probably the only one that could dance unfearingly in a storm_.)

 

He grins, open and trusting, uncaring of the fact that you - an animal, a supposed beast of legend - was conversing to a mere human.

 

"Roger - Gol D. Roger."

 

**_The man who will become the Pirate King._ **

 

His blood smells of deep desire.

 

Then it dawned upon you (-  _and you speculate on what else you've forgotten, and how you had not noticed earlier_ ) -  that you never expected **this** ; to actually be in the era _way_ _before_ the actual storyline started. 

 

_"- I desire to turn over the world."_

_How ambitious, how **daring** ,_ you marvelled. 

 

And it suits him - _the man who would and **had** become the Pirate King_ \- and perhaps that's when the idea of you making that vision _come true_ starts forming in your mind.

 

 _He will be a good King,_ a little voice in your mind purred, and you nod ever so slightly in agreement.

 

Roger laughs - warm and hearty.

 

"What do you seek?" You ask.

 

_What is your dream?_

 

What fueled this dreamer to such heights?

 

_What was his drive?_

 

You have always wanted to know. 

 

"Freedom." Roger states simply, arms open, encompassing the world; like that notion meant everything to him.

 

Perhaps it did.

 

"So, what's your name?" He asks, breaking you from your thoughts. "I don't want to keep calling you _'Kirin',_ y' know?"

 

His voice is warm and friendly in a way that made something _tingle_  in your bones. No one had ever asked you for your name - content with the alias; _certain with_ _the image you crafted -_

 

It's strange. You don't know what compelled you to tell him your true name - but you did all the same.

( _It feels so right._ )

 

Roger beams, picking up the whispered words nearly lost under the crashing waves and night sky.

 

"A fine name." He declares, resting a brief, gentle hand against your broad flanks - presence _blazing_ vividly - and goes right back to watching the shooting stars.

 

"...why do you not fear me?" You can't help but ask.

 

" 'cause I have nothin' to fear." He chuckles, much to your bemusement.

 

"Yeah, I've seen you play with lightning like a potter an' his clay," Roger elaborates. "Take down Sea Kings; talk to 'em like old pals like you do with the dragons. Anyways, you helped me - and most importantly; **_I trust you."_**

 

In the dark, your smile goes unseen.

 

_\- and so our prologue ends, rising anew as the dawn of our beginning -_

 

* * *

 

Life was unchanging on the Dragon's Nest, it was stable, safe... but it wasn't enough. There was something missing, and that emptiness became apparent as weeks passed.

 

 _You cannot reach your true potential with us,_ the dragons once told you, and though you know that(- it's obvious, really; _what is a Kirin without a King_ -) you're reluctant to leave your little haven, but this newcomer made you reconsider your thoughts with surprising ease.

 

Despite only knowing him for such a short period of time, you felt a strange sense of attachment to Roger, and a large part of you despaired at the thought of him leaving once he was fully recovered.

 

The level of affection that you felt for this man _frightened_ you, yet still drew you in with the same breath.

 

Was this what the dragons meant when they said that you would know your chosen King? Your dreams had foretold of a perfect King that you would follow; guide; learn from - _was Roger the one?_ Or were you grasping at straws and hoping too much?

 

But hope springs eternal, and you think that wanting him to be yours wasn't too much to ask, right?

 

Perhaps Roger, too, sensed the connection you had together, or maybe it was some sense of pity; you never ask, but you don't care because no matter what he thought at first, he grew to care for you in the end, and isn't that all that matters?

 

\- he offers you a place in his crew, to become his comrade, friend and more. ( _Nakama, a young boy proclaimed loudly on screen, the scar under his eye tensing at his wide grin, his red vest dancing under the breezy skies and you_  -)

 

"Aren't you lonely?" He had asked once, when you both decided to stay up late to watch the night fall; to watch the moon rise; watch the stars shine and fall in comet showers.

 

You shook your head for no, you were not lonely, not when Roger was here, by your side.

 

"But you _would_ be lonely, won't you, when I leave?" As always, he reads your expressions and thoughts with ease - and you are thankful for it, _some_ of the time, because being away from civilisation for so long had rusted your speech and left you mute for the most part.

 

_But Roger understands._

 

Roger doesn't press you for more than what you're willing to offer - he knows when and how far to push; when to stop - and that's something you're eternally grateful for.

 

 _Come with me then_ , his eyes seem to say.  _Together, anything is possible._

 

 _You will never be alone_ - "I'll show you what true freedom is like." - Roger says aloud, smile warm and open as he vowed; offers his everything to you.

 

"I won't fail; I am the man who will become the Pirate King."

 

There is no arrogance or posterity in Roger's words - mere statement, and you are ever more drawn to him.

 

The dragons seem to like him too, even holding conversations with him at times, and you take it as approval of your accquaintanceship with him.

 

You don't call him friend at first, even if he treated you like old pals out of some measure of gratitude towards you for being his rescuer - mostly out of fear that he would reject you, or worse, take advantage and wring you _dry_ (- Roger probably would not do such a thing, but _you never know_ ).

 

Then he barrels his way in, demanding like a child and earnest to boot.

 

 _"I won't ever abandon you; we're nakama,"_ Roger said with a stubborn intensity in dark eyes, claiming you as **his** with those simple words. 

 

There was no question in the sincerity of it. ( _Your Observation Haki made sure of that._ )

 

That surprised you, made you pause.

 

Made your eyes widen, just a little.  

 

"Okay." You answered without thinking.  

 

And then you can't take it back, because Roger grinned so _brilliantly -_ rendering you speechless.

 

There was such sincerity in it, such _emotion_ in Roger's spirit that dyed it a resplendent gold like the sun itself and you were, quite literally, blinded by the light of Roger's soul.  

  
   
Well. _That was a first,_ you thought as you blinked the stars from your eyes.  

 

* * *

 

Despite his ambitious words, Gol D. Roger is the exact opposite of the power-hungry, cruel and perfidious man one would typically associate his goals with.

 

Instead, he is a carefree person who holds a dream, an idealistic hope for freedom, adventure and _'a man's romance'._

 

So much like a child, yet not.

 

In his eyes, becoming the Pirate King would allow him that - nothing more, nothing less.

 

Not for war, not for fame, not for power - only the freedom to roam wherever he liked.

 

It was a goal you found ludicrous, impossible - for what kind of man would be willing to go against the world for such a foolish, silly dream and hope to _win?_

 

( _But hey, wouldn't it be amazing if we did succeed?_ )

 

You don't realise when exactly you were drawn in by his madness(-  _for what value did a sane mind ever have-?_ ), but you don't mind at all, 'cause if it's **Gol D. Roger** , it would be possible.

 

" _We will go **wherever** we want to go; do  whatever we want, whenever we want, however we want._ That's what _freedom_ truly is."

 

_\- and if I have to go against the world for that, so be it -_

 

His soul is pure and bright, his words and actions genuine, never without half-measures; without any hidden motives or evil intent whatsoever. Under the endless blue sky, it is one of the most ~~beautiful~~ _stunning_  things you have ever seen.

 

It would be a pity if such a man like this died.

 

It would be a pity if such a wonderful man like this went _forgetten_.

 

His honesty, selflessness and loyal heart shines bright to your soul - which is why you can easily place your trust in him; step closer, nuzzling into his hand with your snout.

 

Gol D. Roger was like freedom incarnate; your desired King(- _for what would you choose above freedom?_ ), something you had slowly come to comprehend over the past weeks - and he would go _far_ \- that was indubitable.

 

The emotions that crosses Roger's face - shock, gratitude, happiness and the _wonder_ in his eyes is almost magical as he strokes your muzzle with delighted awe.

 

You never initiated contact unless it was out of necessity - until now.

 

Roger's earnest, trusting expression doesn't change, nor does he flinch even when you shift back into your human form for what felt like the first time in centuries.

 

It reaffirms your decision in trusting him.

 

"Very well," you murmur, voice a low rasp as you lean into his warm, warm(- _accepting_ ) hand - your gold eyes staring into the jet black of his, and a spark of some long-forgotten emotion comes to life in that moment.

 

In a spur of the moment, you take his hand, pressing a kiss to his inner wrist in a show - _a promise -_ of your eternal loyalty and devotion.

 

_I trust you._

 

Gol D. Roger is not one to make light of his promises, and neither are you.

 

"Prove it to me then, my King. _Show me the world -"_

 

\- and he does.


	7. interlude - 001

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Bits of our life; stories nevermore to be spoken of_

 

* * *

 

 • _today was a lost battle_

 

"So, what do you think should be our first priority?" You started casually, reeling in your line and unhooking a mackerel from the end - tossing it into the catch bucket.

 

"Gettin' a proper boat."

 

 _Of course. "_ Next?" 

 

"A first mate." Roger grinned. "Someone has to do all the... paperwork."

 

You ignored the second part.

 

"That's... a good point, but don't you think a _navigator_ would be better?"

 

"I have you."

 

You flush at the honest admission. "Yes, but conversing with wildlife for directions isn't the way to go. What happens if there's no wildlife in the area?"

 

"We'll be fine. Luck is on our side."

 

"...Roger." _Please -_

 

"Alright, alright - I'll get a First Mate an' a nice ship together, aye? Like a two-for-one deal."

 

"...Things don't work that way."

 

"They do now."

 

_"Roger."_

 

"Kirin."

 

"..."

 

"..."

 

You slump in defeat, knowing the man when he refused to budge on a topic(- _but still vowing to try again later_ ). "What about our navigator?"

 

"Later. We 'ave to find a good ship an' First Mate to accompany it."

 

"My dear Captain, please keep in mind that nakama aren't early bird discount offers-"

 

Said Captain had his upper half underwater as he wrestled a fat tuna onboard, not paying a whit of attention to you. The fish was a adorable thing, stout body, nice tones of silver-blue and -

 

The ship - _really, an oversized dinghy -_ wobbled precariously.

 

 _"Help me!"_ \- both Captain and fish blubbered at the same time.

 

You hesitated. 

 

"Captain's orders!" Roger yelled over the thrashing fish.

 

You sighed, but did as you were told.

 

( _You never did get your navigator._ )

 

* * *

 

_• today was a normal day_

 

You yawned, tail flicking to push aside a dozing Roger before his drool could get over your polished scales.

 

He stirred, smiling sleepily up at you - and you see the instant where his eyes brightened in joy and he _bounced_ upright in a startling display of youth and flexibility( _anime physics_ , a little voice grumbled) - pointing behind you.

 

"Look at that view of the Red Line! Isn't it gorgeous?"

 

You turn, staring at the distant mountains - an impenetrable wall of burnished red; a gate to paradise, flanked by belts of unnaturally calm water - only broken by the occasional fin of a sea king.

 

"Yes," you murmur, taking in the sheer magnitude of the craggy formation as you both neared the Red Line.

 

You observe the sunrise; creeping across the horizon, casting the red earth with a firey glow, as if the very seas were set ablaze.

 

Note that when you travelled, it was always by air(- _courtesy of the dragons and your skill at manipulating thunderclouds in storms_ -), so you never got to see the Red Line like this; only ever as a ribbon of crimson seperating the Blues.

 

"Thank you," you say to Roger - _for letting me experience this world in so many ways I could never imagine, for your company_ \- there are a thousand unsaid meanings in those two words that you can never voice out.

 

Roger - Roger merely laughs, nodding genially. His hand rests against your shoulderblade - reminescent of your first meeting.

 

His grin softens then. "You're always welcome, luv."

 

* * *

 

_• today was an alright day_

 

"Have I ever told you where I came from?" 

 

"No, I don't believe so."

 

"It's called Loguetown... 's a place near the Red Line. Many pirates dock there to stock on supplies before going t' the Grand Line."

 

"...So it's a port town?"

 

"Yeah, something like that." 

 

You eye him curiously. "Do you miss that place?"

 

"Nah, but it means _somethin'_ , y'know? The place that you're born in."

 

He hums, tightens the sail.

 

"I'd like to die in the place where I was born."

 

An honest admission.

 

_\- the beginning and the end -_

You inhale _deep_ , exhale slow    - and still the instinctive shudder in you at his confession.

 

"Tell me more about that place?" You ask gently, not wanting to dwell on Roger's words.

 

"Of course," your King agrees, a jolly grin on his face - the solemn moment gone in a blink of an eye. You let his soothing voice fill your mind and think nothing more of his declaration.

 

* * *

 

_• today was a tiring day_

 

"Roger."

 

"Yes dear?" He answered sunnily. 

 

You ignored the endearment with a firm frown.

 

"Swimming shirtless across the Calm Belt with our boat tied to you is not a good way to excercise. It does not accelerate our journey to Ohara any faster, nor is it any _safer_. Should you tire -"

 

"I'll rest in the boat." Roger interrupted.

 

"- I will be unable to help you if you go underwater -"

 

"You can ask the Sea Kings." Roger replied as he continued cutting through the calm waters with smooth strokes.

 

You sighed, trotting nervously on your cloud platform, just a few feet above from the ocean and Roger.

 

"Too risky. The Sea Kings in this area could be feral, or -"

 

"Life is all about taking risks. If you never take a risk, you'll never achieve your dreams." Roger retorted - and the seas  _trembled_ in agreement.

 

How humorous. It was as though the ocean were in agreement with his words.

 

Wait. No. That was just the head of some massive Sea King rising from the depths of the ocean - followed by another, and _another_ , and _another dozen more._

 

Roger calmly picked himself up from where he was beached on the Sea King's head and hopped back into his boat, stripping himself of his pants and wringing them dry. 

 

You don't even chastise him at the impromptu nudity; staring blankly at the assortment of Sea Kings around you.

 

They stared back.

 

A damp hand lands on your shoulder, and you turn to see Roger in his usual vest... but lacking pants or underwear.

 

"I regret nothing." Roger stated bluntly.

 

(.. _.At least the Sea Kings were friendly_.)

 

* * *

 

• _today was a... strange day_

 

"Won't you get sick of me?"

 

"I will never get sick of you," Roger said, caressing your face with possessive fingers.

 

You don't shrink away, don't flinch, simply leaning into the touch of the other male.

 

"I am glad." You hum, purring as Roger scratched that spot under your chin _juust_ right.

 

"Now, continue my grooming please. I desire a clean coat after a week's travel on sea."

 

"Slavedriver." Roger hissed, but still took great care in combing the remaining tangles out from your mane.

 

"A deal's a deal, o' King of mine." - you say, lifting a hoof, to which Roger obligingly takes hold of to begin buffing.

 

* * *

 

_• today was a nice day_

 

"[Name]?" Roger called out, as he was wont to do when you both were alone, away from prying eyes.

 

You focused on him with an inquisitive sound.

 

"Ye 'ave pretty eyes. The loveliest gold I have ever seen. Like treasure." Roger admits out of the blue one day - when the cloudless sky was an endless cerulean( - _reflecting the ocean_ ).

 

You blush, unused to the frank abruptness of Roger's; saying what he wanted without care and with a total disregard of other people's feelings.

 

Maybe that's why he is the most fitted to overturn the world - and maybe that's why you don't stop him(- _but follow him instead_ ), because if there is anyone's ways - ~~compliments~~ you'd accept in a heartbeat; it is Roger's.

 

" -[Name]?"

 

"No, no, it's nothing." You say, gently pushing away Roger's concerned hand, his warm touch lingering on your cheek.

 

"I should really learn from you - such bold, unwavering sincerity. The world could do with more folks like you."

 

Roger grinned at that, his face unusually flushed.

 

( _Oh yes, how society would surely fall to its knees at the hands of such men._ )


	8. awaiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Wait for me. I will be back._
> 
> *also known as the 2 year time-skip of the roger pirates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *new drabble has been added to previous chapter - known as 'today was a tiring day'  
> *please enjoy

Along your journey with him to Ohara( _I have always wanted to go there - Roger proclaimed as you set sail for the land of Knowledge, encouraging and bright -_ ), you dream.

 

Visions of a man with eyes like Roger's, but far older than he.

 

Still a youth though, unlike you.

 

You never get a clear look at his face, but he dresses impeccably, like a gentleman. His aura is silver threaded with kingly black - a _[King]_ that would become the perfect, independent and dependable second-in-command with the correct leader. He stands by Gol D. Roger's side, fitting like two halves of a whole though a obscuring shadow falls over you -

 

You wake, tasting silver on your tongue.

 

Roger's grinning face greets you as you come out of your meditative state - he tosses a silver coin in the air casually before catching it between his index and middle finger. He lobs it at you, smirking.

 

You catch it in between your hoof- no, _fingers(human, not beast)_ and bite into the treat. The taste is divine.

 

"Didja see anythin'?"

 

"Nothing that I do not know." You swiped off the last bits of silver from your thumb with your tongue - ignoring Roger's whining.  _But you'll get your First Mate, that I am certain of._

 

* * *

 

"Are you sure you don't want to be my first mate?"

 

 _"Very_ certain. I am not suited to be your first mate. I do not do well in leadership positions - you know that."

 

"No. No I don't." Roger retorts.

 

"...Trust me." - _I really don't want to be stuck with the paperwork and planning. I had enough in my past life, thank you very much._

 

You can't say that of course.

 

"Alright." Roger sighs, cupping your face with a tanned hand. "I trust your judgement."

 

...in the distance, the sun rises, washing the world into colour.

 

* * *

 

You pen a letter with your impending arrival to Clover -

 

_Dear Professor Clover,_

_How have you been? I am sure you will be pleased to hear that I am making my way to Ohara. I now sail under a black flag, but rest assured that I joined of my own free will, and that my captain is a good man. Young and bold - he will surely bring about a change._

_I wish you well, and look forward to meeting you soon._

_Warm Regards,_

_A Voyager_

It is short, if only for the fact that you have never been good at conversing - be it on pen or out loud. Still, you are satisfied with what you have written.

 

 _-_ the letter is not sent on a messenger hawk or the typical carrier pigeon, but on a News Coo instead. Few would ever expect a News Coo to send mail(- _that's what Messenger Birds were for after all -_ ), thus your reason for doing so.

 

Turns out that tipping well and being kind to the News Coos made them than willing to provide you with special services and whatever gossip they had on their grapevine. Avians were very chatty creatures after all.

 

You absently wonder of Clover's reaction upon receiving your letter.

 

* * *

 

_Finally._

 

Ohara - you can see it in the distance.

 

The Tree of Knowledge - an omniscient treasure trove of history, its roots buried deep into earth, into the ocean; delving _deep_ into the unfathomable depths of the world - _rooting the entirety of Ohara in place -_

 

\- you can _See_ that all, even from miles away. Observation Haki is a beautiful, _wondrous_  thing.

 

Yggdrasil was said to have branches that grew beyond the heavens; extending across all of the nine worlds in Norse mythology.

 

The Tree of Knowledge instead has _roots_ that spread far and wide, anchoring itself down as the pinnacle of omniscience as it hosted the greatest library and scholars throughout history within its very core.

 

You chide yourself for ever assuming the Dragon's Nest to be Ohara. _How could you -_ how could you have ever forgotten the wonder that was the Tree of Knowledge? 

 

[ _Because when we last saw it, it was a distant memory, a burnt **husk** of everything that once  was -_]

 

You wince, shaking your head briefly and turning your mind to other things.

 

_...Have you ever wondered how life would have been if you had met the scholars as desired?_

 

_But -_

 

"Hey, hey, Kirin, Ki- _[Name]!_ You've been quiet ever since we spotted Old Hara-"

 

 _"Ohara-"_ You corrected Roger out of habit.

 

"Haha, so you _are_ listenin'~" Roger chuckled, patting you on the shoulder. He frowns for a moment.

 

"You'll be fine. Don't worry. Yer anxious, but see - _you've got me!"_

"Heh -" You let slip a laugh. Roger's grin brightens.

 

"How audacious, but thank you for the offer," you demurred.

 

_\- it doesn't matter now._

 

( _Everything will fall into place._ )

 

* * *

 

People dismiss the dinghy you and Roger arrive in along with you two - of course, who would care for a duo of strangers?

 

Docking at Ohara in a forested place away from the main landing area also helped.

 

You mute your presence, choosing to wear a set of dull, nondescript clothes to prevent others from noticing you, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention.

 

Roger is surprisingly calm, not trying to wander off or get into trouble(- unlike the past few times). He stays close to you, so very close as though trying to assimilate every bit and breath of you in mind.

 

(... _and you soon find out why_.)

 

* * *

   
  
You can feel the Tree of Knowledge - _of Life_ \- beckoning you, calling you into her embrace.

  
  
Roger's presence is a warm, comforting thing, but the Tree exudes a feeling of comforting serenity amid her branches that cannot be compared; the aura of a being so old yet pulsing with rich energy and speckled with the lifeforms of a hundred-thousand souls; human, animal and —and the ancient tree is _everything_ and **nothing** , and thus a reflection of one's mind, and exactly what one thinks to find.

  
  
Thick branches sprout below your feet as you took each step, like a mother guiding their child back home; into their hold. You cannot help the _change;_ reverting into your hybrid form at the sheer amount of energy and life that was held within the Tree. 

 

Roger looks around with wide eyes; like a child experiencing the beauty of nature for the first time - drinking in the sight of the way the tree grew before your very eyes, lifting you both up into its - _her_ \- core.

 

The air is **thick** with energy, so rich that someone as sensitive to the world like you can see the colours blooming; more vivid than rainbow—it's every colour in existence, the entire spectrum.

  
  
And you can see it all, _oh_ , how the branches stretched out high above you towards the glorious Sun, the trunk immeasurably large, roots twining down into the deepest depths of the earth —and you wonder whether Roger sees what you see.

  
  
"This... is this what you _Observe_ with Haki?" Roger breathes, awed and introspective at once.

  
  
You nod, the movement making sunlight play over your scales like a visual melody.

  
  
"Amazing," he remarked, eyes distant, spidery fingers tangling in the coils of your tail; black irises glinting and you wonder what exactly he was referring to for a second, but the thought passes from your mind when you catch sight of Clover.

 

"K-Kirin?" The professor whispers with undisguised awe at your appearance.

 

You were human for the most part, but there was an air around you - _as Roger had described_ \- something that classified you as otherworldly. Or it might have been due to your antlers and serpentine tail. Or maybe it was the way the tree was reacting to you; coming alive in a way never seen before to them.

 

Roger's hand is an encouraging force on your arm.

 

You nod. 

 

* * *

  

Time passes too fast. A week was now a month, and you know that every moment spent dallying meant Roger's first mate slipping away; he could be _anywhere_ , and you were just dragging things down.

 

You have a schedule to keep. 

 

Despite the sound logic, you have no heart to follow it through. You are torn between reconnecting with old pals like Clover and fulfilling your goal( -  _you are so, so close to making it come true_ -) yet the loyalty-bound part of you whispers at you to **leave** and continue on with Roger to find _that man -_

 

"You have missed them, don't you?"

 

You flinch, caught in indecision.

 

"Don't worry; it's normal." Roger smiles, understanding and warm.

 

"I... I want to stay for a while," you admit, bowing your head in apology.

 

"But we have to leave, right? Otherwise our chance will be gone?" Roger quoted the latter bit from you - _time was of the essence -_ according to your visions, and Roger took your words seriously.

 

"Yes," you murmured, downcast.

 

He sees you, and his decision is clear.

 

"As your Captain, _I order you to **stay**."_

 

\- a weight lifts from your shoulders, even as you stare at your King in bewilderment.

 

Roger must have seen the confusion - the glimpse of hope as he commands you to **stay;** to catch up with old friends; _to fulfil your dream_.

 

"...As you wish, my liege," you nearly trip over your own words, taking a knee in face of your captain's stout posture.

 

Gol D. Roger's hand on your broad shoulders are slender things. His hands are callused, true - _as is his growing build_ \- but a child cannot compare to an adult.

 

You are far older - _an adult to this young one_ \- and it shows(- _he really shouldn't be comforting you. It was supposed to be the other way around_ -), but Roger disregards the fact, just like how he has no care for societal rules.

 

"I trust you. I trust that you will return to me after this." _That is why I am leaving, so that you can have your closure._ "Would you trust me to do the same?" 

 

Yes. _Yes_ , you do. The answer comes so easily to your lips, but it still hurts to know.

 

He is not abandoning you. Roger is letting you be free by giving you time to reconnect with friends and accomplish your goals. Haven't you always wanted more knowledge? _Was it not your first goal?_   ~~ _Dream?_ ~~ And here Roger was, giving you freedom to pursue it.

 

_So why not?_

 

He wants to help you fulfil your dream; not trample over it, so he gives you two years -  _in memory of us two-gether_  - he says, cracking a pun with that whimsical smile of his and you smile, agreeing, certain as Roger's intentions are pure, so you nod - letting Roger draw you in for a hug.

 

* * *

 

On the eve of his departure, you promise Roger that he would know his first mate as soon as he saw him. _Silver and gold_ , you whispered, a soft caress against the shell of his ear.

 

He thanks you - and your heart does a flip when a sly smile spread across his face.

 

"The world always rewards the risk takers. It always has. It always will." Roger remarks, looking at you contemplatively.

 

He leans in then, smirking.

 

A daring kiss is pressed to your cheek by surprisingly soft lips and you freeze.

 

_What?_

 

Roger laughs at your expression as he hopped onto the boat, sailing off with a wide grin.

 

"Don't miss me too much, 'kay?"

 

"...My selfish King," you chide as his form becomes a speck in the unending horizon of the ocean.

 

( _You don't miss his warmth. No, not at all -_ )

 

Gol D. Roger returns two years later, with his foretold first mate.

 

 _Silvers Rayleigh,_  named aptly to the theme of silver and gold; pretty strawberry blond hair to a quicksilver tongue and -

 

_\- let us overturn the world together, he says -_

 

\- you smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never mentioned this before, but thank you, to everyone who has shown support for this story. 
> 
> It is rather slow going(as I wanted a fic that focused more on world-building), and to be honest I never expected much attention to be given to it, seeing as it's pre-canon, Gol D. Roger era and will stay that way for quite some time.  
> I had actually written the first chapter a good half decade back, but never got to posting this fiction till now as I was uncertain of the feedback I would recieve. You could say me being anonymous is due to lingering uncertainty.
> 
> Gol D. Roger isn't the most popular character after all.
> 
> I cannot express how happy I am to see so much positive feedback, so again, thank you. A comment or kudos or two may not seem much in comparison to fics with hundreds or thousands or them, but to me, they make my day. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you, truly.  
>  
> 
> If anyone wants to drop some ideas, things they'd like to see, constructive criticism or simply chat, I'll be around.
> 
> Your opinion matters, no matter how minor you might think it be.


	9. look-back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The ~~five~~ multitude of jobs you have and the one you (never)had_

 

This is how you start your career(s). This is how you become the ideal image of admiration; the person you had dreamed of being in your old life.

 

Someone that held multiple professions, excelling in them all and a philanthropist of sorts - _that's you._ Some might call it nonsense, unfairly overpowered, but hey, you'd take all the advantages you could get. Power meant freedom - and what kind of pirate were you to not seek that?

 

It would sound strange to the regular person; a pirate, a crimminal - earning their wealth in  _legal_ ways, but you had never been one to conform to the norms.

 

It's not that you intended it in the first place, but things _happen_ and well, you just go with the flow...

 

* * *

 

**_• writer_ **

 

You never really planned for it, much like how you had never planned to end up in _this_ world. It's just that -

 

  
You don't want to forget anymore.

 

Not like those who lost themselves to time, lost sight and track of who they once were, recalling no one and living a meaningless cycle.

 

You recall the old folks in your world, aging and becoming a husk of their former selves, living the day over and over in mechanic motions, a piteous mound of flesh. You see dragons lose their self, their mind to the bends of time and you don't want to become like that. You think of the old Ryu - not Ryuuma, but the actual dragon Ryu - and of how his mind failed him more as the days passed and you _fear_ -

 

It is inevitable, we all age, but it is not death you fear.

 

You are scared of _forgetting_ \- that is an odd fear, you suppose, but your strongest point( _weapon, trait_ ) is your mind and you are loathe to let it dull or break.

 

The sentimental side of you doesn't want to lose the better memories of your past, or the edge you had over this world. Reading a story and _living_ it was two different things after all. You don't want to end up like those people who could only recall the images coming back in little flashes at inopportune moments(- _far too late to change history_ ) - instead, you wish to hoard them, retain your chance to change key points of the world when possible - so you _write_.

 

You write it all down. ( _But isn't it ironic that your personality trait is 'being forgetful'?_ )

 

The stories are written, word for word as best as you could recall them; Aseop's Fables, The Grim Brothers, Charles Dickens and a dozen more till your shelves are filled up and you muse on the pros and cons of publishing these works. 

 

The songs and poems are stashed on scrolls and books, perhaps to be sung another time, another day.

 

The history(- _future_ ) of this world is written in code, because some things you cannot risk. Never. Paranoia existed for a reason.

 

You muse on what would happen if you had tried publishing the stories.

 

Perhaps they would get their little section in the Daily News for some time, where some might take pleasure in them and maybe it would catch on an become a classic, like back _then_.

 

That would be nice.

 

Then there might even be actual income - '฿eri', if you recalled correctly. There was quite a bit stored away in your vault from your questing and trade in goods, from what you recalled - but more cash never hurt. Of course, you wouldn't squander the wealth; you would find a proper cause to help with, like the revolutionaries - _just to shake up the world -_ or set up some non-profit foundations since these tales were not truly created by you, so it was only right if the money earnt from this endeavour would serve to better this world, right?

 

But all these were just the fantasies of a dreamer. You had neither resources nor capabilities to manage such a thing. 

 

...then again, you could start out small, no? To test waters and see whether writing was actually plausible in the first place.

 

Yes, of course.

 

 _Now_ , to keep in spirit with the One Piece world - it is only right for your first piece to be a pirate's tale.

 

 _\- and what better tale than that of our dear Captain Jack Sparrow?_ Your mind supplied helpfully, and you smirk - and begin penning your work with a flourish.

 

( _When word gets out that you're the writer of the Jack Sparrow series, you are promptly assaulted by a variety of mail and people wanting signatures - even Shanks had approached you! Well, at least no one found out about the others. You'd never hear the end of it then._ )

 

* * *

 

**• _musician_**

 

Music and songwriting has always come naturally to you. You can't say you had the best vocals in your old life, but it seemed that being reborn gave you an excellent set of vocal chords(- _and good looks too_ ), allowing you to sing a wide range of notes, though you excelled in the lower notes as a male. 

 

Recreating Frank Sinatra and the classics was a step away from becoming reality - all you needed was to learn how to play the guitar and piano and perhaps purchase the former at a later date for practice? _Any_ music could be turned into an acoustic style; certain artists had proven that back in your old world very clearly.

 

Fly Me to the Moon would be a _dream_ to play -

 

"- ey, Kirin, it seems that there's a passing musician that came from beyond our seas that's come to perform for some noble lord." Ryuuma tapped his chin in thought, noting the glint of interest in your eyes. "He plays a... 'guitar', from what I've heard."

 

"Truly?" You murmured, gripping your teacup tightly as a jolt of delight and hope shot through you.

 

"Mhm. I do not lie."

 

"I know." You smirk, your _excited_ intent made the very air ripple, and a maple leaf spiraled downwards to where you were both seated, only to be plucked out of the air before it could land in your tea.

 

Ryuuma's eyes dart to the burnished orange of autumn maple, a contrast to your fair skin and the dark tones of your yukata before focusing back on you _just_ in time to see an unbidden smile spread across your face.

 

"I look forward to hearing you play," he says with much pride, callused fingertips brushing yours as he plucked the leaf from your fingers and inspected it "- you have always had a keen eye - and skill - for the arts."

 

\- and you laugh, wondering for the nth time on what you did to deserve such _luck_.

 

* * *

 

**• _chef_**

 

You had a past hobby of gardening and agriculture - especially after your retirement. Starting up a farm wasn't too hard, since you had all the materials and wealth needed to set up such a thing. It didn't hurt that Ryuuma's people were generous and helpful beings.

 

With them, you learn the ins and outs of large-scale agriculture; the intricacies of raising up livestock and crops of the One Piece world and so much more. ( _Note that farming simulations were nothing compared to the real thing. Thank the stars that your Devil Fruit made you more hardier, else you would never be able to complete your tasks_.)

 

The best part was cooking. To be able to grow, harvest, prepare and consume the fruits of your efforts and also share it with others was like living a dream. Another part of you also loves the way food brought people together, made them happy in a way few things could compare to.

 

How peaceful; how simplistic -

 

Well, you could do without the invitations to the palace and all that, but such was the price of fame. 

 

At least the Royal chefs were willing to spare a tip or two...

 

( _The part where they taught you how to properly hunt, use and most importantly, respect the ingredients is something you will never forget_.)

 

* * *

 

**_• artist_ **

 

You sketch Ryuuma as he trains, noting the curve of his spine, the flex of his muscle, and the strong cut of his jawline that drew your focus as beads of sweat pearled on them, only to be displaced by the movement of his body, the fluid motion of his limbs, his strong, supple wrists and steel grip that allowed those swift, deadly blows.

 

The blade he wields, a _'meito'_ , in dialect, was black as midnight with a distinct white _hamon_ that gave it a pattern of dragons' teeth and had a hand-guard with petal-like edges of gold. Its hilt was wrapped in black silk, matching its sheathe of black with evenly spaced circles of red split into thirds.

 

All in all, it(- _Clear Autumn Water , Ryuu helpfully translated as he polished the blade, inspecting its every angle with keen eyes -_ ) is beautiful due to its simplicity; its pure aesthetics without any unnecessary elements.

 

 

Functional, yet with a hidden elegance, the katana was secured to Ryuuma's side with a gold sageo cord you had braided for him on one winter's morning.

 

Even to your inexperienced eyes, Ryuuma's poise, breathing and technique is impeccable - discipline and fluid motion in every step, every stroke as he moved through his kata, his blade an extension of his body.

 

You would be lucky if you could capture all these moments in time, you think, as you continue your sketching.

 

( - _and you wonder whether it was so wrong if you wanted to be like him too, just a little_.)

 

* * *

 

**_• misc - businessman/director/etc._**

 

After one too many unknown references and missed jokes, you couldn't take it anymore.

 

You must apologise for plagiarism first, but there was a valid reason, really. The lack of recognition annoyed you - so you can't be blamed for recreating famous stories and all those popular movies for the sake of it. That's correct. You were doing it for the references.

 

Besides, no one could sue you anyways!

 

Hahahaha - _suckers!_

 

On a side note, had no one noticed that One Piece is an excellent world to cast a movie in considering the Devil Fruits and strange animals that exist?! Really, why bother being a pirate when you could make your earnings off bigger things? There wasn't even a need for photoshopping and green-screens - One Piece has got you covered.

 

Weird shit happening on a daily basis? Check. ( _Grand Line_ )

 

Unimaginable flora and fauna? Check. ( _Grand Line. Calm Belt. New World._ )

 

Wide cast of characters? ( _Intelligent animals. Giants. Fishmen_ and _Mermaids. People with multiple appendages_.) Checkity _checkity_ check check _**check**._

 

Imagine Harry Potter recreated in such a world - wouldn't that be splendid?

 

( _Roger approved instantly, laughing at the splendid thought of pirates making movies and of more fame - while Rayleigh sighed, but aquiesced when faced with the entire crew's pleading, the notion of 'filming' too intriguing to ignore._)

 

...and that was what brought you to now - trying to convince Shanks to dye his hair black.

 

Really, it was for a good cause! He'd make an excellent Harry - _nope_ , that was not you being biased or anything.  

 

Ah, Rayleigh was absolutely striking with black hair though - a far more handsome version of Snape. You had to thank Shanks and Buggy for their successful prank for once...

 

Hm... Who to play Lord Molder- no, Mould- no, Voldymould and his minions though?

 

Perhaps you could dig around in your Underworld contacts? That sounded rather excellent. You knew of some folks who not only owed you, but had quite the flair for dramatics. Certain _major_ crime lords were on that list too.

 

Also, Roger made a fantastic Sirus; if only he would stop sulking at the loss of his damned handlebar mustache. 

 

Ah, it was so hard to find a good cast...

 

( _The mafia was surprisingly enthusiastic about this whole movie thing. Land pirates and sea pirates got along well apparently - though both parties would deny that vehemently._ )

  

* * *

 

**\+ 1. ~~historian~~**

 

"Kirin-san? Are you watching the seas again?" 

 

-  _for your King_  - was left unsaid, but you hear and nod all the same.

 

Nico Olivia - no, _Olvia,_ Nico _Olvia -_ as the small child had introduced herself to you when you bumped into her while perusing the library - asked.

 

She was a gentle child; curious, kind and sweet. Warm sunlight and the scent of the accumulation of a lifetime’s experience of books in millenia-old libraries.

 

That makes you nostalgic - and perhaps it's why you confide in her of your longing to see Roger, and of the world beyond.

 

She[-  _keeps your words to her grave, keeps her connection to you to her grave_ -] tells you of her dreams to become a great archeaologist, and you praise her for that, even if you know of the fate that would befall those who dared to delve too deep into the Void.

 

( _You think you might have been the same, had you ended up on Ohara as planned._ )

 

You don't discourage her, because if this is her dream, who are you to stand in her way?

 

It was just a pity she was too young( - too much of a _civilian_ -) to ever survive the madness that followed your Captain.

 

Perhaps when she grew older, perhaps then -

 

"Will you come back soon? Professor Clover is making lunch," Olvia asks, fiddling with a lock of white hair - now bathed in gold under the rays of the sun. "We are having  _bouillabaisse -"_ she cajoled, knowing your penchant for traditional food.

 

Your mind recalls the methods of making this dish near instantaeneously. You are a chef after all. ( _Y_ _ou remember the times that Clover spent on the Dragon's nest, sitting by a campfire as he ladled the soup over generously_ -)

 

 _Bouillabaisse_ , you muse - _'fish stew; Provençal' -_  made offish that were caught, but not able to be sold.

 

Bony fish. Small fish. It was a dish created by -  _and for_ \- the poor. The fishermen ate what they had. The stock is simmered for hours (- _or days_ ), and the gelatine from the bones gave these stocks a rich and strong taste. The fish for consumption are added to the stock based on how long they take to cook. The stew would then be served with toasted baguettes rubbed with garlic, homemade aioli on the side, while the cooked fish would be served separately. 

 

Clover had explained some of it to you; the rest you pulled from memory.

 

You must understand, _see_ , that's the thing about Ohara. It is a land of scholars, of intermingled cultures and tastes and knowledge that doesn't only stay at history, but also on cooking, knitting, fighting - everything, really. And the people do a good job of it. 

 

....and you're not doing a good job of conversing with Olvia.

 

"Certainly," you reply, resting a hand on her shoulder in silent apology.

 

She beams, taking it as an invitation to take your hand. Her soft hand grasps your far larger one, guiding you away.

 

With a wistful look to the horizon, you follow.

 

 ( _Some things were never meant to be_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, thank you all for your comments! It's pleasing to see so much activity, and I hope you all have enjoyed these drabbles.
> 
> If anyone has any scenarios/events they'd like to see, just mention it and I'll find a way to insert it into the story(- if it isn't planned for already, that is).
> 
> PS: All the best in your endeavours, no matter what they may be!
> 
>  
> 
> @AndreaNoir:: Hello, lovely to see you - and no worries. I regret nothing - only the actions untaken. 
> 
> As mentioned earlier, should you have any scenarios you would like to see(or scenes you want expanded on), just give me a prompt anytime
> 
> Your English is excellent, so fret not.


	10. get-together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First meetings are often glazed with sugar and refined. No one really says _how_ they met. But don't worry. You get the full experience, step by step. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *edited some points in earlier chapters for story flow/ease of reading  
> **bonus to those who catch the added bits c:

It was only now as you were watching Roger leave that you learned while you might have _accepted_ it, you were not _prepared_.

 

Roger was leaving, off to unknown lands and away from you. You are going to be left alone with people you knew, yes, but it was a _different_ dynamic and understanding than what you have with your King.

 

Everything was changing, but, _but..._  it would be fine. _Roger said he would return -_

 

So you would continue to believe in him and wait for him faithfully, as promised. Faith and trust is all you have.

 

You have patience, but those were truly some of the longest years of your life.

 

(- _and as vowed, he returned to you exactly two years later, laughter bright as ever_.)

 

* * *

 

Gol D. Roger is like the sun arching over the dark clouds, confidence in his stride and when he faces you, you are nearly overwhelmed by the radiance of his soul.

 

_Beautiful. Absolutely -_

 

Bronzed hands gently touched your arms, sliding up your skin to cup at your face. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, racing so quickly you think it is a miracle that it doesn't burst. Then Roger beamed down at you, all warmth and benign amusement washing over you like a balm.

 

He has grown taller; stronger - bulking up somewhat but still maintaining his lean shape. Now, Roger is a mere hair's breath _shorter_  than you, promising to outgrow your height in scant years. 

 

“I have missed you,” Roger admits, thumb ghosting circles on your flesh and before you can respond, he sweeps you up into a hug, warm like a heated blanket on a chilly winter's night - a delighful heat that made your mind blank out and think of nothing.

 

 _"I'm home,"_  he whispers into your ear then - a mimicry of your gesture towards him two years ago.

 

It catches you off guard with its spontaneity; the strength coursing through your Captain's veins(- _proof that Roger had grown even stronger_ -)but you return the gesture with equal heart, unable to fight down the sappy smile blooming on your face.

 

"Welcome back," you hum, burying your face in the crook of his neck and inhaling in the scent of rum and spices; and of something else that was solely _Roger_.

 

You vaguely note Roger's companion turning away to give you both some space and you shoot him a grateful look.

 

You don't pay the other much attention after that, drawn back to Roger, to the energy _thrumming_ through his veins and the vibrance of his aura despite the fatigue burrowing into his marrow; the rich glow of his skin under the setting sun; the heat of his body pressed against yours and how his fingers traced your flesh, the planes of your back then shoulder, neck and head, stroking waves of hair back from your face to cup your head close, close enough to feel his warm breath on your lips; close enough to kiss, if he just angled his head a little _more_ -

 

"...I got you a gift," Roger speaks, breaking the moment; seperating from you just enough to draw out a carefully wrapped bundle - which turned out to be a gorgeous red scarf and the strange tinge of disappoinment in you fades away. You smile in thanks(- _functional and stylish_ -), bowing your head to let Roger bind your fringe back with the soft material, letting the ends of the scarf trail down your back like a cardinal's tail.

 

"Lovely." Roger smiles at the sight of red silk and golden hair mingling together, his expression warm like the morning sun.

 

His touch lingers on the nape of your neck.  _Possessive._

 

A part of you feels there is a strange kind of intimacy in Roger's actions, like a blind man memorising the carved braille from a long-lost love, but you can't begrudge his ways, not when you aren't exactly against it yourself - and you probably would have done the same, if you were in his place.

 

 The rest of you resolves not too look too deep into Roger's gestures. He is still a boy after all, and so very fickle.

 

* * *

 

You nod politely at the newest addition to Roger's - _your crew now_ , you remind yourself; _yours as you were his_ \- fighting down the gleeful laughter bubbling in you as you take in the sight of your new comrade.

 

[Silvers _Rayleigh; the Right Hand of the Pirate King; Shadow King; 'King of the Underworld' -_ ]

 

His soul is full of untapped potential, and you can _forsee_ how he could be with the proper training and experience.

 

Rayleigh is _tall_ , taller than you and Roger( _making your Captain the shortest_ -).

 

He is broad-shouldered with a handsome, _unscarred_ face framed by strawberry blonde hair. A pair of round, wire-rimmed eyeglasses perched on his nose, adding to his scholarly appearance, though his casual outfit(- _probably stolen like his boat, a little voice muttered -_ ) consisting of a floral shirt and well-worn tiger-striped knee-length shorts and sandals gave the image of an eccentric person.

 

Not a civilian though - he has too much cunning in his eyes for that, _and_ his stance is flexible enough to shift into a fighting form with allowance for retreat depending on the situation at hand.

 

Silvers Rayleigh was also growing out his iconic beard - a rich black embattled over his lower jaw, giving him an intimidation factor. To you, it was simply _charming_.

 

While Rayleigh's eyes were kind, if cautious, he assessed you with much intensity - not that you minded in the least. 

 

You had not expected anything less. Indeed - had Rayleigh accepted Roger's words at face value and showed no wariness towards a stranger, you'd be utterly  _disappointed_.

 

"Hey, play nice, 'kay?" Roger interrupted, mistaking your continued silence and evaluative looks for ones of challenge. 

 

You and Rayleigh nod agreeably - and Roger was _off_ \- speeding to the nearest restaurant... abandoning you both.

 

You sighed, as did Silvers.

 

"I take it that this is very common?" The male spoke, his voice a low drawl.

 

 _Delightful_ , you muse, nodding at his words.

 

"You seem to have experienced it yourself," you comment at Rayleigh's unsurprised expression.

 

He shrugged noncomitally before holding a hand out to you in greeting.

 

"Silvers Rayleigh," he introduced. "First Mate, apparently."

 

Something _clicks_ in you - like a puzzle piece slotting into place. _Silvers Rayleigh -_

 

"Silvers Rayleigh," you repeat, enjoying the way the words curl around your tongue. "A pleasure." You smile sincerely, grasping his hand and shaking firmly. 

 

"They call me Kirin," you say simply. "I am the Jack of All Trades... Roger's 'Second Mate', if you will." _No way in hell am I admitting that I'm the Sailing Master or anything of the sort. That's the equivalent of accepting the navigation job Roger thrust upon me. Nope. Nope. **No.** In all due respect, fuuuck you sir._

 

"Hm," the man hums, pondering.

 

 _"Though_..." Rayleigh mused aloud, curiosity evident in his eyes. "That is just a moniker, hm?"

 

You blink, surprised that Roger trusts Rayleigh so as to mention that fact.

 

You know better than to assume that Roger had carelessly given out your true name. Gol D. Roger might be a brash person, but he would never let loose a secret, if at all.

 

 _Rayleigh must truly be fated, if Roger trusts him so quickly._ Your lips curl into a smile. "Indeed. I suppose if he trusts you enough to mention that, then -"

 

 _"Don't."_ Rayleigh stalled you. "Names have power. If you choose to tell me your true name - I want it to be out of trust for me and not due to the shared bond of  _our_ _Captain_."

 

"Fair enough," you chuckle, a soft burst of affection settling in your heart.

 

* * *

 

 As you both amble your way to where Roger was feasting(- _really, just look for the place with the biggest commotion_ -), you and Rayleigh swap stories to get to know each other better.

 

He tells you how he met Roger(- _destined; meant to turn this world upside down together_ -), and in turn you share with him of your first meeting with Roger( _providence; a vow; freedom incarnate_ -) - and you find a pleasant sort of kinship bloom between you two.

 

Roger chose his First Mate well.

 

Currently, Roger's form was blocked by towering piles of plates, each wobbling precariously as wide-eyed servers sought to clear them before even more food and empty plates alike were piled onto the table. 

 

Again, you are left in a mixture of fascination and mortification at the black hole that was your Captain. Turning to face the suspiciously quiet Rayleigh, you are met with the blond's blank face - the closest thing to abject horror that the calm and composed man would ever potray.

 

As it is, the both of you share a single, commiserative look.

 

"Ah! Kirin, Rayleigh!" Roger exclaimed, swallowing down his chunk of meat like a voracious snake. "G'd ta see that yer makin' friends already - _Come;_  sit; _eat~!_  'S been _sooo_ long since I've _'ad_ restaurant food -"

 

"You had some a week ago before sailing full speed ahead to Ohara," Rayleigh interjected, no doubt having been subjected to Roger's demands and participated in a Dine-N-Dash or went the idiotic route by paying the resulting bill like an _honest_ man... which you doubted would happen. 

 

Roger ignored him studiously and continued munching on his leg of lamb.

 

Rayleigh sighed, taking a seat next to Roger, pulling out a chair for you to settle in too.

 

You do so, and a vegetarian dish of some sort is promptly shoved into your view - and when you look up, a stew of some sort was given to Rayleigh by Roger before your King continued his meal.

 

You hide a smile. Roger offering food was a Roger that cared.

 

"Is this fine?" Rayleigh asks in a low tone, surprising you. 

 

"What do you mean?" You wonder, following Silvers's gaze to the ceiling-high dirty plates and you _understand_.

 

 _Ah._ "Well, I am the one supplying the majority of produce, so it would not matter as I always ensure a surplus for 'emergencies'." - _no need to worry about lacking funds or commencing dine-n-dash routines here -_ you note, angling your head at a passing waiter, who quickly changed his route to get a set of teacups and freshly brewed tea. Ah, the perks of being a major supplier was wonderful. 

 

It was set down carefully in front of you and Rayleigh - Roger having forgone the brew for a far stronger tankard of mead.

 

"I see," Rayleigh nodded, a gleam of respect shining in his eyes. 

 

You hummed your thanks to the server, taking a sip of hot tea and watching Rayleigh eat unhurriedly before a thought came to mind.

 

"Ne, Roger, Rayleigh... I've been wondering - what adventures have you had so far?"

 

Roger grins and happily starts on his tale - gesticulating wildly - with Rayleigh adding on bits here and there. ( _Rayleigh was also there to stop Roger when he got too enthusiastic with his retelling._ )

 

It is a pleasant reunion all-around.

 

* * *

 

You were about to retire for the day - when a knock on the door roused you.

 

Extending your senses, you are greeted by Roger's presence.

 

Hurriedly, you open the door and promptly get an armful of happy teenager.

 

"R-Roger?" You exclaimed as he clung to you like an octopus, legs and arms wrapping around your torso, pinning your arms to your sides. Stumbling backwards, you land heavily on the bed - Roger still atop you.

 

 _"-missed you."_ He says in a low murmur, chin unhooking from your shoulder too peer at you with ink black eyes.

 

You still, feeling strangely naked under his gaze.

 

"I wanna sleep wit' ya." Roger whined, pouting - dispelling the moment in a blink of an eye.

 

He doesn't mean anything sexual in the statement of course. It was easy for one to mistake Roger's words for innuendo if you did not know him. Roger was just blunt. Straightforward.

 

You sigh, body untensing with a shake of your head.

 

Lying back on the bed, you free your hands, combing through your Captain's messy hair with a hand, the other resting across his back, reassuringly warm.

 

Roger huffs in contentment, burying his face in your chest.

 

"...I have missed you too, my King." 

 

* * *

 

When you wake, Roger is still asleep.

 

No surprise there, considering that he _had_ overexerted himself in his rush to Ohara, no matter how he claimed otherwise. His slower reaction time and forced energy was obvious to you, so you let him rest.

 

It was alright. You did not need Roger for this part anyways; he hated paperwork and the nitty-gritty planning after all. 

 

But Rayleigh was a different story.

 

The man was good at organising and was an excellent planner - and he had shown plenty of interest in discussing the finer details with you. That was a good thing - managing inventory, cashflow and other miscellaneous documents was a tedious thing by your lonesome... Not to mention the bad memories it brought up.

 

Blinking into wakefulness, you rise slowly from the bed, being careful to not jostle Roger too much and risk waking him up. At least he had migrated away from you and into a bundle of blanket and limbs during his sleep, otherwise you'd be stuck with a koala-esque man on you all morning.

 

You yawn, feeling your jaw crack and -

 

A hand latches onto your wrist.

 

**_!_ **

 

You jolt, a warning  _crack_ of electricity sounding off before dissipating into thin air. Any closer and you might have shocked your King. You place a hand over your racing heart, glancing at the arm, which was attached to a sleeping Roger.

 

 _Good God that scared me._ You sigh inaudibly, and twist your wrist out of Roger's grip -

 

He held on stubbornly.

 

... _Really. Really. _

 

"Don't leave..."

 

_Ah.... Roger, you -_

 

"My treasure. Don't leave me..."

 

_You..._

 

" _My rum~_  Good _God_  let me give you my life -"

 

 _You just ruined all my goddamned expectations, asshole,_ you groused, harshly twisting your limb free of the idiot.

 

Glaring at Roger's sleeping mein, you frowned before shaking your head. Roger was just being Roger... and besides, sleeptalk meant nothing. Why were you so agitated anyways?

 

"Idiot." You say without heat, lips brushing a kiss on his forehead, watching as he burrows deeper into the covers with a content sound.

 

* * *

 

 As you washed up in the adjoining bathroom, your mind drifts to the moment where Gol D. Roger caught you off guard again - and you wonder _why_.

 

It was most definitely _not_ due to Roger being able to conceal himself; he was as subtle as a boulder to the head. In broad daylight.

 

Roger didn't mean anything - his actions were unintentional; he didn't know what he was doing.

 

Still, you doubted it was an instinctual thing(- _you'd evade that in a heartbeat with Haki -_ ). You'd consider it more of a reflex, with the fact that he was still sleeping and had latched onto you without any intent.

 

Intent... Intent! It all makes sense now! Your Haki would not be able to sense an incoming attack if the attacker did not _'realise'_ it themselves, like training oneself to react rather than think every step of the way... or being like Roger. 

 

 _Annoying._ You frowned at your reflection in the mirror as you put on the headscarf, tying it back to drape over your hair.

 

You have to train your Observation even more to prevent such a thing from happening again in more dire straits. Especially if you ever met someone who could _willfully_ change the 'intent' of their will to fool your Observation.

 

Observation Haki was not infallible after.

 

...Perhaps a chat with Rayleigh would do you well. He would probably be in the library.

 

Quietly, you padded over to the windows, pulling aside the curtains to let the sunrays in, bathing the whole room in a gentle glow. Squirrels chittered amongst the leafy branches intertwined outside your windowsill, and you catch hold of the tail end of their disjointed conversation.

 

_'...familiar.. noisy man...'_

 

Ah. Were they talking about Roger too?

 

( _No. Not at all_.)

 

* * *

 

You _really_ should have left a note for Roger, but you forgot, in all honesty. Well, Roger would know to find you in the library, surely - and Professor Clover was always around.

 

"Rayleigh," you called out as you spotted the man sitting in an armchair, reading a book on Devil Fruits. Books of other topics like sailing, geography and more were stacked in a neat tower beside him.

 

The male perked up, rising from his seated position with a smile as he spotted you. "Good morning, Kirin-san. Did you sleep well?"

 

He shifted another armchair closer - inviting you to take a seat.

 

You chuckle. _Such a gentleman_. "I should be the one asking you that. You seem to be enjoying this library immensely, hm?"

 

"Of course." He traces a finger down the spine of a leather-bound tome gently. "I must thank you again for showing me all this. This place is a veritable treasure trove of jewels."

 

"I am glad that you like this so." You began. "So tell me, what kind of books do you enjoy reading?"

 

He smiles a sincere, jovial smile - _something you were quickly growing accustomed to -_ and speaks.

 

Conversation soon turns to more practical matters - like future plans, navigation, supplies and of course, food inventory.

 

 "As we'll be going on a longer journey back to Loguetown - _as Roger wants to officially start his journey back at the beginning_ \- I suggest dried meats, biscuits, citrus with 'military' rations for emergencies, while subsisting on seaweed and sea king flesh and other seafood."

 

"That is very practical, but not good for our health in the long run. Perhaps we could have an addition of leafy greens, berries and even some perishables? And _yes_ ," you stall Rayleigh's protests. "I know the risks. However, my Devil Fruit abilities allow me to prolong the lifespan of fresh produce..."

 

 _"Oh-"_ Rayleigh's eyes glimmer with interest. "How does that work?"

 

"Well, products of nature like fruits, meat, plants and the like all contain a natural energy within them. Their degradation can be simplified to _'positive energy'_ saturated by  _'negative energy'_ over time, resulting in loss of freshness and allowing rot to take hold. However, my Mythical Zoan purifies the good from the bad, elongating the lifespan of the ingredient in question."

 

"Very intriguing," he notes, dark eyes alight with sincere curiosity. "I noticed that you mentioned _natural ingredients only_ \- so does it mean that processed foods have some sort of complexity to them that prevents you from extending their shelf-life too?"

 

"Yes," you reply, pleased with having found another that did not zone out when you got into explainations(- _namely Roger_ ). "Processed foods, inanimate objects and sapient beings like _humans_ have complex structures that prevent me from simply exchanging their internal energies and granting them eternal youth or such _nonsense_. Simple stuff like berries, fresh meat, even timber can avoid spoilage as long as I use my abilities on them."

 

Rayleigh nods. "How often would you need to do such a thing... and most importantly, how taxing is it? I have no wish to tire you needlessly. Fresh food, however tempting, is not worth your discomfort in the long run."

 

You nod in understanding, smiling at Rayleigh's thoughtfulness. "Well, I am fine with large quantities of foods, but they would have to be of the same family to make it so that I do not need to spend more energy by varying the energies used."

 

"Ah, so berries, citrus, drupes and nuts of different kinds are fine, but having small quantities of every kind would expend unecessary power?"

 

"Indeed." You smirk, pleased at Rayleigh's quick comphrension.

 

"...Amazing. Truly." Rayleigh looked at you, respect evident in his gaze. "May I know how you discovered such a thing?"

 

"Certainly." You lean back in your armchair, eyes drifting to where a sole squirrel was racing down a branch outside the windows. It was talking to itself; a trait common in most rodents.

 

_'Beware/quick/hide/store food/earthquake-'_

 

_What the-?_

 

 _"_ Kirin-san?" Rayleigh's low baritone distracts you, and you put aside the animal's words to answer him.

 

 _Something was going on._ "...As you know, I was previously a farmer, so I considered ways on maintaining the freshness of my ingredients before shipping them off to buyers. Experimentation soon led to one thing and another..."

 

* * *

 

After satisfying Rayleigh's curiosity and settling your future plans, you made your way out of the library, intent on finding a place where you could converse with a seagull or two to find out more on the changes the sea might have brought in.

 

Perking up your ears, you note the distant chittering of the many squirrels that inhabited the Tree of Knowledge.

 

_Arrival... Loud... Seeking gold._

 

That last bit confirmed your fears. They were not talking about Gol D. Roger. Someone familiar and annoying had come once more... this time looking for treasure. Who was it? 

 

What moron or person could get the animal inhabitants of this island so riled up?

 

You have a sinking feeling of dread in your heart.

 

Said feeling is amplified as the pitter-patter of footsteps coming your way, worry suffusing the atmosphere more with every step as the form of Nico Olvia burst into view, neat white hair askew as she panted for breath, hands on her knees.

 

You make your way over, a picture of calm that you were most definitely _not_ feeling.

 

Sadly, you don't get a chance to comfort her.

 

" ** _He's_**  here," she hissed, and your blood freezes at the _heavy_ and all too familiar footsteps and aura that followed after her - that **bold** ,  _brash_  aura that greeted you.

 

 _"Yo!"_ An obnoxious voice addressed you, coming from a well-built teen in a somewhat rumpled marine outfit that was unbuttoned, revealing his toned chest.

 

Olvia pales, never having liked loud people(- _much less marines_ ), scuttling into the maze of a library with a squeak. 

 

Luckily, she goes ignored.

 

"So this is where you were~" The marine chuckled, his toothy grin stretching the long scar curving the corner of his left eye - and if the timing wasn't so inopportune, you  _might_  have appreciated his presence.

 

As it is, your breathing stutters.

 

 

_"Garp...?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Rayleigh... and a wild Garp!
> 
> Keeping everyone on the edge of their seats with this devlopement... Maybe. Also, a major thank you to y'all - I look forward to your reviews and continued presence here~
> 
> Lastly, happy holidays everyone!
> 
> PS: If I do not reply you, please don't take offense - I am just shy, as embarrassing as it is to admit. Know that I always keep your kind words close to heart.
> 
>  
> 
> @Dragonteeth117:: Thank you kindly! It's been a fun time crafting out the tale, so I hope you'll love this addition in our path of adventure.
> 
> After all, what kind of pre-canon era is it without a young!Garp?


	11. face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crouching idiot, hidden dragon. Something something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *i really, really want to return home, just for a taste of dessert. i think those desires may have manifested in my writing...
> 
> **wishing everyone happy holidays ahead~!

"It's been some time, Scholar-chan - you're doing well as expected! You look happier too..." Garp puffed out his chest, thumb pointing at himself. "You probably heard about my arrival right?  _Bwahahahaha_ -"

 

You twitched. _This_ marine was persistent and arrogant as ever. You had met him a year ago when he was assigned to patrol Ohara's waters, a few months after Roger's departure - and the teen had declared himself your 'pal' after seeing how lonely you were.

 

Rebuffing him was useless. He just superglued himself to you.

 

Annoying, really. Garp could be endearing at times, but you were mostly left feeling like trying to fend off an overenthusiastic dog.

 

"It's not because of you, ye fool - it's due to..." You pause.

 

You can't admit that Roger had returned. Garp would question and do his best to _arrest_ them upon sight, and Roger would nullify any attempts at ceasefire with his brashness.

 

"...my newest discovery in growing herbs," you finished lamely. Luckily, Garp accepts your reply, nodding with a big grin before he threw an arm over your shoulder.

 

"Sounds wonderful - you are free now, yeah?"

 

He doesn't wait for a reply before rushing on. "How about a date? We can get to know each other better~" The teen says, wriggling his eyebrows.

 

You are about to refuse, only to recall Rayleigh and Olvia still within the library - _and Roger dozing somewhere within the Tree -_ and you can't risk Garp stumbling upon them or _them_ stumbling upon the marine.

 

"Very well," you aquiesced, regretting it near instantly when Garp gave you a hearty slap on the back, grinning exuberantly.

 

 _"Excellent!_ Let's go then-"

 

...and that's when you realised you had agreed without knowing what you were agreeing to. Taking a stroll with a marine was one thing, following one to the unknown was another.

 

"Where to? Not a ship I hope..." You muttered, mind conjuring up possible escape plans if Garp found fit to haul you into a marine vessel for a candlelit meal or anything along those lines. 

 

 _"Bwahahaha_ , no - I am thinking of a nice tea house, somewhere we can have a good ol' chat."

 

"No ships?" 

 

"Of course, I'm not one for lying - I am _Monkey D. Garp_ after all!"

 

Monkey D. Garp. Monkey. **_D._** Garp. _Garp_. Why... How have you never realised that this is _that_ Garp(- _Hero, Berserker -_ ) before? Perhaps it's denial from some latent wish of yours that you'd stop bumping into canon characters long before the Luffy Era starts.

 

_Also, reality differs from pictures, please have mercy -_

 

You thank the poker face you have once more. Offering a suitably genial smile, you nod placidly.

 

"...I have missed you, y'know."

 

The sudden confession startles you, as does the touch of Garp's fingers on your arm.

 

He sounds too much like Roger then -  _but he is not -_

 

You draw back, only to freeze at the inkling of hurt and confusion in Garp's eyes.

 

...now that you think about it, Monkey D. Garp was ever the tactile person, affectionate and touchy to those close to him, and there was no reason to begrudge him when all he wanted was some company.

 

"Sorry," Garp says gruffly, shocking you. He never apologised for his actions before. "I know you're kinda iffy with skin-contact-"

 

"No, no... It's nothing." You end lacklusterly. _If it's not someone I trust, I cannot relax_ \- but you can't say that now, can you?

 

Forcing yourself to untense, you decide to accept his touchiness and accompany the male - it has nothing to do with the limited edition tea he got for you from the Land of Tea, no sir, _not at all._

 

* * *

 

Later on, in some quaint teahouse that you often frequented, you try to make yourself comfortable, though Garp has no problem acting like the place was his home. 

 

_Really, please don't splay your legs like that. You aren't a gangster._

 

 Taking a sip of the heavenly tea(- _Garp was nothing if not good at picking out what you'd like without fail_ -) you were all for chilling quietly till Garp interrupted with an ice-breaker.

 

"So, tell me more about yourself?"

 

You blinked. Courtesy states that you should play along, but screw that. And screw normality.

 

"No thanks. I came to relax, not partake in an interrogation."

 

" _Wahaha_ \- still as cold as ever, Scholar-chan," he pouted, hand over his heart. "You wound me, _sweetheart_."

 

You surreptiously inch away from Garp.

 

"I... I would much rather hear about you, Garp-san. Life as a marine is surely more entertaining than the routine of a simple _civilian_ like me," you murmur. Anything to stop that wounded puppy look on Garp's face.

 

Garp's aura _sparkled_. How was that even-?

 

"So you do have an interest in becoming a marine-"

 

"No."

 

"So you _do_ like me then!" He was gripping the edges of the table, barely restraining himself from leaping over the object to grab you and probably do unholy things to your soul.

 

You are really, _really_ starting to regret accepting his invitation. It should have been obvious that any outing with Garp would end with his monkeying around.

 

"Uh..." You lean away, just a little, as Garp pulled out some rice crackers, munching on them rapidly as he began rambling on his current state of affairs - something about Senny(- _oh god why did that sound so familiar_ ) and a lull in work thus him taking shore leave for the _'Peaceful shores of Ohara'_ , as quoted from Garp.

 

You consider sacrificing a nearby book to cover yourself from potential food bits when you see movement from the corner of your eye.

 

* * *

 

"Then I was like - hey, Scholar-chan, are ye listening? You're so distracted these days," Garp whines, his hand coming to grasp at your slender wrist.

 

You jump, flushing and stuttering like a shy maiden, and Garp likes it very much. It was strangely cute, for a grown man, and Garp was pretty sure that Sengoku and you would have given him a good slap for his current train of thoughts. 

 

You'd get along well with Sengoku, now that he thought about it. Both of you were good people at heart, and you had an open mind, so he could probably make things work. If only he could convince you to enlist in the marines, then everything would be fine -

 

"Garp, is something the matter? If not, could you please let go of my wrist?" 

 

"O-oh!" Garp released you, grinning stupidly. "Sorry, sorry! You were so cute I couldn't resist~" 

 

"Garp... What did I say about such things?"

 

"Eeeh..." Garp scratched at his cheek. "Not to or you'll dump my narcoleptic body onto the nearest anthill?"

 

"And...?"

 

"I'll be good."

 

"Good. So stay here. I have some matters to attend to, so I will be back in a moment, alright?" You request, sounding more like an owner commanding his dog more than anything.

 

"That's not fair! I came all the way out here to see you again - don't I deserve more than this?" Garp cajoles, knowing that you were more softhearted, especially with proper reasoning. 

 

"I... I know, Garp. But just a moment, okay?" You say, eyes shifting uncomfortably as you scooted past him.

 

He grasped your arm at the last moment.

 

You look back, startled. The gold of your eyes are stunning as ever. He wonders what you see in him, but he something tells him that now was not the moment to ask.

 

"Be safe," he grins, loosening his grip to brush over your fair skin and dexterous fingers.

 

"...I will," you agree, a tiny smile on your face as you leave to go help the teahouse's cooks on some request or the other. 

 

You step away, leaving a space between them that seems too cold in comparison.

 

Garp sighs, knowing discomfort when he saw it. Something is not right. Perhaps you were in trouble? He could sense an odd sense of anxiety and fear - maybe it was from those newcomers who landed? There was a commotion not too long ago, from the townsfolks' gossip.

 

That sounded more like it.

 

He never thinks himself as the cause, of course - after all, he was an upholder of justice.

 

What was there to fear?

 

* * *

 

 "Thank you."

 

"It is nothing, Kirin-sama. This is the least I can do in exchange for all your help - especially with the high quality ingredients and excellent recipes you gift us." The plump chef grins, rosy-cheeked and bright as he waved a hand at the neatly arranged utensils and fresh ingredients organised in the kitchen.

 

 _Aaah, what a nice man._ You sigh happily. If you were in your hybrid form, your tail would surely be wagging from sheer happiness at the promise of doing some stress-relieving baking once more -

 

"That marine's always troubling you, so I hope that you can make use of this space till he leaves."

 

"What happens if he refuses?"

 

"Then I'll make him!" The chef threatened, waving a rolling pin angrily. 

 

"Please don't."

 

You feel that the only one leaving will be the chef. To the hospital - or the afterlife, if Garp didn't hold back.

 

 _"Hmmmrrhm_ \- fine then! But still -" - _cue mimicking of the beating the cook surely wanted to give Garp - most people were like that towards the infuriating teen -_ but Chef-san was easy to anger and easier to go overboard when annoyed.

 

Ah, how stereotypical.

 

"Thank you, Chef-san. I'd be happy to help out as much as I can then. Also, would it be possible to bring back some dessert? I'll pay you back-"

 

"-no no no, no need for that now! I can grant a selfish request of a generous man like you~" The chef chuckled heartily, a glint of steel in his eyes.  _No refusals allowed._  His wooden rolling pin _shone_ in a metallic undertone for a moment, but the image was gone in a blink of an eye.

 

Probably just your overactive imagination...

 

You gulped, deciding not to offend the man. "Aa, then I'll make sure you won't be disappointed by the results."

 

* * *

 

 Hours later found you smiling serenely, all troubles forgotten as you gazed at your assembled desserts - petite fours and equally delicate cakes.

 

 _Croquembouche_ piled in small pyramids held together by finely spun threads of caramel, topped by whipped cream.

 

 _Eclairs_ glazed in chocolate, strawberry, hazelnut, yuzu and a dozen other flavours, garnished with the complementing theme tastes. 

 

 _Sweet macarons_ could be found in every colour of the rainbow, some filled with jam and cream - while others hid a crunchy interior of hazelnut praline. 

 

 _Entremets -_ multi-layered mousse-based cakes - were your masterpiece, each simple yet paired with texture contrast and complementing flavours. Charcoal-shelled tarts filled with vanilla mousse, sponge cake and spiced apple compote, orange-chocolate cakes set on a base of praline and topped by candied tangerines, a mascarpone mousse glazed with raspberry on a simple sablé base topped with mixed berry compote - these were some of the items you had made.

 

All in all, it was a paradise for any who delighted in desserts or had a sweeth tooth. Productive stress, as Ryuuma called it.

 

But you took home none of the fancier products. Instead, you picked out a pair of modestly-sized apple pies - regular, homemade and plain - wrapping them up for Roger and Rayleigh. 

 

Roger is not one to be impressed by grandeur or complexity. He is straightforward and simple - and that is perfect for you. 

 

You peek out of the kitchen to see Garp snoozing, his chin set on his hand as he dozed without a care in the world.

 

Guilt pinches at your soul. 

 

Sighing, you place down your dessert. Requesting permission from the chef, you enter the backroom of the cafe, taking out a soft blanket and draping it over Garp's muscled frame, just as a cool draft whispered by. 

 

Asleep, peaceful - Garp is like a different man. You could even come to like him like that. 

 

You retreat back into the kitchen and return with a perfectly rounded choux that had been filled with fluffy vanilla mousse, holding a blueberry jam interior and capped with pâte à choux dusted in snow sugar in the formation of the marine insignia. 

 

  _Thank you_ was written in cursive font on the plate's rim - the only way you'd dare to convey your gratitude to the teen, not wanting wake him up and risk him following you.

 

Silently, you padded back, taking your chosen items with nary a sound. With a nod at the chef, you depart from the place.

 

A few minutes later, Garp gives a jaw-cracking yawn, black eyes snapping open.

 

( _Today is a fine day_.)

 

* * *

 

 Humming a cheery tune, Garp admires the dessert in his hands, torn between eating it in one bite or nibbling on it, bit by bit.

 

The decision is taken out of his hands when a whirlwind of a teen shoved by him, yelling something intelligible as he melted into the crowd, the red ribbon of his straw hat eye-catchingly bright. 

 

That single instance of distraction causes Garp's grip on the cake to falter - sending it splattering onto the dusty dirt ground. 

 

The marine logo is nothing more than a smear of blue-white.

 

All is eerily silent - Garp can feel his anger burning - that stupid brat!

 

That cake was his hard-earned treat! Your acknowlegdement of him! 

 

 _"Bastard,"_ Garp fumed. Until he found that Straw-Hat bastard and vented his anger - there was no way he was going to leave this place!

 

Bulldozing through the crowd, Garp disregarded the yelps of the civilians around him, focusing on tracking the presence of the teen. Of course, Observation was not his forte, but he felt that gut instinct would lead him to the correct person.

 

 _Just like an animal_ , you would comment - and Garp absently wonders then whether you would give him another treat or hug if he were to tell you of his bad luck.

 

When faced with the low, low chances of beating up that idiot that ruined his cake and spending more time with you - Garp promptly skids to a halt - and shot off in the vague direction that you left.

 

 _"COME BACK HERE!"_ He roars, deafening all in a mile radius.

 

The poor civilians were promptly assaulted by a large dust cloud kicked up by Garp from his sprinting - causing all within radius to devlove into pitiful coughing. 

 

By the time the air cleared, the marine was a distant speck in the horizon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, thank you for your patience everyone! I must apologise if this chapter feels rather choppy, but I hope you'll like it nonetheless.
> 
> My gratitude for all your kind and encouraging comments - it has always made my day whenever I see them :)
> 
>  
> 
> AndreaNoir:: Long time no see! Happy to have you around, and I hope that this story finds you in better health. Don't worry - I love long comments; it's very rewarding to see others' review, regardless of their content. 
> 
> Well, you could say that I am drawn in by overpowered characters. The fact that they are 'absolute' yet oftentimes have no sound logic/crippled by plot syndrome makes it too boring, especially when the world revolves around them and everyone caters to their whims. 
> 
> Have I mentioned the above before? Perhaps? But hey, we're having fun.
> 
> Also; surprise harem-in-reverse!
> 
> Hehe - have I ever mentioned how much I love your ideas? Well, I have plans of my own, and I won't be spoiling them I'm afraid. Main canon characters won't be too affected, but here's a hint; you will be the one instigating the change of the world. After all, you are a _guide_... To damnation or destiny - we shall see.
> 
> On a side note, This Bites! Is where I got some of my inspiration for the reader doing side jobs as a way to earn money. Here - have some worldbuilding info as thanks for bringing up good memories~
> 
> Television exists, as does computers/cameras and the basics. Transponder snails are basically the lifeblood of electronics in this world - _only a certain man does not rely on them_ \- as the snails' wavelengths are what keeps the channels tuned and the surveillance cameras connected etcetera.
> 
> However, for films to be produced, one can only use Visual Snails and let said snail 'project' the memory into the television, allowing it to run said show. As visual snails are not good at long distance projection, one cannot broadcast the film across multiple islands - they have to purchase a snail that holds the memories - much like buying a CD for the household. Of course, to prevent people from pirating your goods, you always make sure to use 'forgetful snails' to be your CDs. 'Forgetful' visual snails are low quality snails that can only memorise a single set of memories, and any attempt at tampering after the initial set stage renders the snail's memory blank. This makes them useful in some places, and a constant presence in your business.
> 
> *movies exist in a larger scale - most people watch your films in the theaters due to your cheap prices(regardless of film popularity). Most who buy your 'CDs' are collectors/fans as the snails are very pricey.(Hey a pirate's gotta earn money~)
> 
> Well, I hope this answers some questions - feel free to drop by anytime! Your comments are always a delight to read.
> 
>  
> 
> DangerousFork:: Many thanks - I got interested in rare pairings - not to mention that the unknown path is a wonderful place, so hey, stick around c:
> 
>  
> 
> Hanvaler:: Oh you, making me blush - but I'm pretty sure fics recieve the same amount of views whether they're anonymous or not, right? Unless there's some system that bars people from reading anonymous stories?
> 
> Perhaps... Perhaps if I gain more confiedence in the future I might just de-anon. No promises~
> 
>  
> 
> SarahGri99:: Hehe, thank you. It's always lovely to see others that enjoy my potrayal of Roger/Rayleigh. In my eyes, they're that kind of people~


	12. confront

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beasts only speak one language, no matter what skins they wear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~*violence is a form of foreplay~~  
>  *young and violent, we all make mistakes we can never erase  
> *see you all next year  
>  ~~yes, I waited an entire year just to use that~~

 

"Kirin!" Roger greets you with aplomb, bursting into the library once more - startling poor Olvia into dropping the books she had been arranging.

 

A hand darted in swiftly, catching the falling books. You catch Rayleigh's gaze, seeing his relief reflected in your eyes.

 

"T-thank you," Olvia murmurs, head bowed.

 

She makes herself scarce once more - and you let her go with a gentle ruffle of her snowy hair.

 

_(I'm sorry luv. I can never seem to spend time with you these days.)_

 

_(It's okay, she said. Your Captain is very important to you, and the past years together are... enough.)_

 

_(Then why do you sound so sad, child?)_

 

"Roger - you're awake. I trust you had a good night's rest?"

 

"Yep! But I'm hungry though - I was up _all mornin'_ searching for ya," he claims, agreement echoed by the growling of his stomach. 

 

You shake your head, an amused smile on your face.

 

"You were looking for us?"

 

"Yeah! It ain't fun to eat alone, y'know. Food tastes better with friends." He says factually.

 

You nod agreeably, setting down your books.

 

_Never change Roger, never change._

 

* * *

 

"So, where are we going this time?" Roger questioned.

 

"...Weren't you the one leading the way?" Rayleigh mutters, referring to Roger's leading position at the front.

 

"Ah. Not at all. I just like being forward. I was actually following you," Roger says flippantly.

 

Rayleigh _smiles_ , a vein starting to pulse on his temple. "How would I, a person who has never stepped foot onto this island till _yesterday_ know anything?"

 

You step between the two before Roger could annoy you both further.

 

"How about some comfort food?" You patiently ask. "I know a family-run store in a quieter area..."

 

"Ah!" Roger exclaims. "That would be good. There was some weirdo yelling and screeching in the marketplace earlier -"

 

"Are you sure that wasn't you?" Rayleigh muses, making you choke a snigger in the back of your throat.

 

_Ah, Rayleigh - you really are perfect for the team._

 

"What?" Roger gapes, affronted. "I might put the blame on others, but I'm not one to curse like a sailor. That's more like a marine thing, _savvy?"_

 

Cue a saucy wink. 

 

You have a  _really_ bad premonition.

 

* * *

 

Luckily for Garp, just as he was about to resign for the day, he spots a glimpse of that stupid straw hat disappearing into a restaurant. Logic would state that could be another person that also wears a straw hat but Garp  _knows_ differently.

 

He trusts his instincts. 

 

Enough to stomp into the place. Across the din of the dining establishment - no one looks up other than the worried manager.

 

As expected - Straw Hat. Eccentric blond.  _You._

 

....wait what?

 

You are there. Laughing at something the stupid brat said(- why did you never do so with _him?_ ), gold lashes fluttering as you looked at the brat with such softness he might even say you are in _love_.

 

The bespectacled blond is an afterthought - nothing in comparison to you and that bastard stealing your attention, stealing your _time_ -

 

He catches snippets of your conversations - theivery, journeying around the blues and avoiding marines and it all _clicks_ so easily in his mind - _why you looked so agitated, why you were constantly missing_ \- it all made _sense_ now, with the way these _**filthy**_ pirates were charming you over to their side with grand promises and pretty pictures.

 

Garp doesn't even notice the way your body stiffens when he approaches the table, or the way protectiveness seeps into Roger and Rayleigh's eyes as he zeros in on you.

 

They are the reason behind your troubles.

 

* * *

 

Rayleigh notices the marine first. He has been in enough fights to know when someone was looking for one - when someone wanted trouble. 

 

The look that the teen gives them promises pain, and Rayleigh is not blind to see the flash of some soft, covetous emotion in the marine's eyes as he strides to them.

 

You are a sight - all politeness and fair skin, eyes wheat gold in the dull lighting - and strangers looking is nothing new.

 

But this man looks at you like he is familiar, like he wants to be familiar(- _the thought makes something ugly coil in Rayleigh_ ) so Rayleigh interjects himself into the conversation smoothly; a touch to Roger's arm, whispered words as his head dipped near the shell of your ear - totally uneccessary, but all the more sweet to see the way you accept his touch and the ugly jealousy burn in that stranger's eyes.

 

Rayleigh has never liked marines.

 

But he is so very surprised when the marine does not approach more than a few initial steps - choosing to retreat back out - and did not return.

 

* * *

 

 When nothing happens, when no marines appear and try to arrest you all(- _Silvers confided in that happening before and Roger groused on the lose meal -_ ), you relax.

 

Garp's presence is like a candle, flickering bright then disappearing. Gone with the hustle and bustle of the afternoon crowd.

 

It's rather stressing. But luckily, you have Roger and Rayleigh to distract you from your inner turmoil.

 

The dessert is a nice plus. On Roger's request for more chocolate sauce - you go to the kitchen, only to see it empty.

 

The rebel in you makes you walk straight to the fridge, giving no fucks as you took the desired item and left, making sure to leave no evidence and that the Visual Den Den Mushi ignored the moment.

 

( _The day ends. Garp is like a distant nightmare; Roger is here, foolish and bold and real -_ )

 

**.**

**.**

**.**

**.....** If only that was the end.

 

Throughout the scant time you have known Garp - one thing is constant. His aura is like a wildfire - undying, brash, _loud_ \- heated and always eager.

 

It's why you don't notice when Garp slips into the kitchen, till rough fingers land on your neck. 

 

You jump, glass jar crashing to the floor as you looked at Garp, terror-struck and confused as the sound rang aloud in the empty kitchen.

 

"Kirin..." He says, fingers outstretched, brushing your vulnerable neck. You duck away, eyes wide.

 

"What's gotten into you?"

 

You suddenly sense the incoming presence of what must be a small army of marines - _what the hell, how did this asshole get so many dingleberries assembled before the day was up?_

However, you don't get a chance to say anything more as Garp charges forward ferociously, slamming you into the wall, stunning you into pure, undulated shock as your jaw snaps open and shut to clench down the pained noise that nearly escaped your throat as your head bounced against the brick wall.

 

Garp's mouth opens - words upset, but you can't hear a thing over the ringing in your ears.

 

What happened? Why was Garp doing this? You were not the enemy. Had you not been excellent company? Where was the silly, cheerful marine -

 

Garp shakes you, looks you deep in the eye and... and releases you.

 

You sink to the ground, Garp's betrayal making you lose your strength all of a sudden.

 

"I am sorry." He says. He reaches out -

 

You flinch.

 

( _Don't you think how funny is it that trust takes years to build but only seconds to shatter?_ )

 

\- and retreats.

 

 _Liar, liar, liar,_ your mind chants. _Always acting before thinking - never caring about collateral. I should never have -_

 

"I should never have assumed that you were connected to those _filthy_ pirates. It's okay. I'll get rid of them."

 

He grins, more bloodthirst than concern.

 

Your mind is a whirl as you watch him stomp off, hollering angrily at the direction Roger was at. 

 

Roger, who had just returned to you, Roger, whom you had sworn to serve, _Roger_ -

 

That's enough to snap you from your daze.

 

Picking yourself up, you brush yourself off, your insides mending themselves as you crack your knuckles, getting ready for a brawl in the growing havoc of the restaurant.

 

You spot Roger laughing gaily, ducking below the barrel of a shotgun before yanking it out of the marine's hands and clocking him with the butt of it.

 

He flashes a prideful smile at you, spinning the shotgun like a cane before going back to smashing marines in the faces. The relief that exudes from him at the sight of you untouched is undeniable even under the stench of blood and violence.

 

 _Rayleigh_ takes his time, footwork impeccable as he easily batted sailors and made them into shields alike for protection.

 

 _How dirty_ , you muse, then in the same breath - _I like it._

 

It lights a fire in your gut to watch them work(- _the marines ignore you; who, for all counts, are nothing more than a nobody, presence so weak and forgettable_ ) - you can't tear your eyes away from Rayleigh, especially with the way he worked his brass knuckles(- _holy shit they had spikes)_.

 

No wait. You squint, eyes widening as you realise that Rayleigh's _left_ hand had a set of bagh nakh - _tiger claw-like weapons used for assassination_ \- to grip and rend things apart while his his _right_ used a simple brass knuckleduster, studded with solid metal to soften up flesh before the inevitable rip and tear.

 

That was rather vicious, and unexpected.

 

_Since when did Silvers Rayleigh fight like that?_

 

Then again, Oda never _did_ show how Rayleigh was like in his youth.

 

You swallow, throat dry as Rayleigh scored a hit against Garp - thankfully with his regular brass knuckles. The marine falls back, bruised, and you are torn between concern and helping to hold Garp down for Rayleigh to punch out.

 

Garp might be annoying, but he was still good company when Roger was away.

 

_But was he really?_

 

He is a **marine**.

 

He betrayed you. Hurt you.

Hurt your **_n a k a m a._**

 

Will you stand for that?

 

**No, never.**

 

Roger yells then, all angry and fierce and lacking that mocking tune. Your head snaps back so fast it nearly gives you whiplash - and _there_ , Garp's hand is on Roger's hat, yanking it off and the way the material nearly crumples under his grip nearly gives you a heart attack.

 

That iconic symbol of the future Straw Hats, but most importantly; your **King's** treasure \- being ill-treated and _ruined_ for some tanturm - makes _you_ leap at Garp with a possessed fury, controlling the urge to shift and trample the marine to dust with your hooves lest you risked the harming the straw hat further.

 

The marine tosses the hat aside as expected, focusing on you with an intense light often found in fighters and beasts alike.

 

"Why?" He whispers, but he does not falter in his blows.

 

You do not reply. ( _You want to ask him the same thing too_.)

 

You tussle with Garp, limbs grappling - but you lack in true experience with such combat and with your self-imposed limitations.

 

You can’t win, not without blowing your carefully crafted cover. In Garp's eyes and the marines, you are just another unfortunate person that got tangled up into a pirates' affairs. No point alerting the marines to what you can actually do.

 

Inwardly, you can only apologise to Roger and Rayleigh.

 

_It seems that I must depend on you both._

 

You accept the punishment that comes, just as Garp catches you in the ribs with a jab and Roger roars across the din of the fighting, teeth bared.

 

A huge hand grabs you by the chin and slams your head into the cold wood floors.

 

You bite through the sides of your cheeks unintentionally, making blood pool in your mouth.

 

_What have I done to incur your anger so, Garp? What have I -_

 

You’re just trying to refocus your vision when you’re hauled upwards by your throat and then immediately slammed into the wall.The impact was meant to stun, not to kill, but the bottom crevice of your lip still splits at the impact.

 

"Forgive me," a rough voice says.

 

 _Yer ain't sorry. "Fuck you."_ You hiss. _Liar -_ a tinny voice screeches, words you never dare voice out. 

 

Groaning, head throbbing, blood and spit dribbles out of your mouth as your pain is drowned out by fatigue. You tire of all this madness. Your regeneration doesn't mend your mind.

 

The betrayal hurts more than anything else.

 

Snarling. Yelling -

 

 _"NO -"_ Roger snarls desperately, pained; like an ensnared beast seeing death and you think, _fuck it. **No more -**_

 

 _Pain_ lances through your neck, and the dark embraces you.

 

* * *

 

They made a strange pair, one black, the other gold. One murderous, the other calm. Both had a synergy to each other, even if their emotions were simmering as they made their way to the marine outpost in Ohara.

 

The streets were suspiciously empty. News spread - and all not wanting to be involved stayed the hell away.

 

Rayleigh tried for a calming tone.

 

"We must divorce ourselves from emotion here. No matter how hard it is, we have to be rational and think— "

 

_Your pained expression as that stalwart grip tightened on your neck, squeezing -_

 

"Rayleigh," Roger interrupted, face serious. "I am an instinctual person, but even I know _control_..." Roger trailed off, eyes zeroing in on a random marine recruit passing by.

 

He pounced.

 

The greenhorn never stood a chance.

 

 _"OI_  - WHERE IS MY NAKAMA?! I KNOW HE'S NEAR! YER WITH  _WHAT'S-HIS-NAME_  -" Rayleigh clocked  _Roger_  over the head with his fist, letting the stunned marine and pirate fall to the ground, the former frothing at the mouth from the violent treatment at Roger's hands.

 

Well, at least Roger didn't get a chance to use his tiger-claws. Rayleigh does not regret teaching his Captain how to use such a weapon but ripping people apart was generally more frowned upon than noise pollution.

 

Roger made a whining sound as he rubbed his head, looking none the worse for wear.

 

"Roger.  _Senchou."_  Rayleigh stressed, tossing the unconscious body into the nearest bush. " _Calm down_. We don't want to draw more attention then we already have."

 

Roger pouted impressively for a teen. "I...I was just feeding off my emotions, okay? Y'know those marine jerks just... piss me off." He ended weakly, wilting under the impassive stare of his first mate.

  
"It's alright." Rayleigh snipped sarcastically. "It's impressive to see a man feeding off his emotions."

 

"Oh, thank you!" Roger smiled, pleased as punch.

 

Rayleigh fought the urge to facepalm.

 

He failed.

 

* * *

 

When the world comes back into some sort of focus you're in an interrogation room, all slate walls, sterile atmosphere and purposefully low lighting.

 

You're tied to a chair, and testing the give of the ropes tells you that someone knows how to tie competent knots - and you're not going to be wriggling free without losing more of your skin than you're comfortable with.

 

Hey, having good regeneration didn't mean you liked getting hurt.

 

Blinking the grogginess from your eyes, you twist your neck from side to side, alleviating the dull ache in your neck and to ensure that all injuries were healed more than anything else. 

 

Fucking _Garp._

 

As though hearing you mention his name, Garp steps in.

 

It's like a bucket of ice being poured on you.

 

Simmering hate and muddled confusion in you begins to war.

 

The teen is quiet, a tired, guilty air of sorts hanging around him but you can't quite care - not when your mouth feels so dry and the cause of all this is right _there_.

 

You lick your lips. Garp traces the gesture with his eyes, catches the haziness in your dull gold sight and you know you _have_ him.

 

 _"Water,"_ your voice cracks - your eyes purposefully pleading and Garp abandons whatever words he is about to say and rushes out to return with a bottle of unopened water - the seal still in place.

 

"I'm sorry. I acted before I could think." But Garp makes no move to untie you still, only cracking open the bottle and plodding over to you, holding the mouth close to your lips.

 

 _Another approach then,_ you muse, lips parting to meet with the bottle's opening, taking a tentative sip. Finding no oddities in the liquid, you start taking greedy gulps of water, uncaring of the slight trickle running down your chin, trailing your neck before disappearing past your collarbone.

 

You most definitely do not miss the way Garp's fingers tighten on the bottle.

 

**_Hook._ **

 

"Thank you," you sigh, polite as ever. Garp nods stiffly, screwing the bottlecap back on stiffly and setting it aside. 

 

He comes closer then, caging you in with the proximity.

 

"I didn't intend for this..."

 

You stare, confusion pasted onto your face. 

 

Garp hand on your shoulder is uncomfortable - as much as the _hope_ he has in his eyes. ( _The vindictive part of you wants to crush it -_ )

 

"You'll forgive my rashness, right?"

 

He leans into the chair, close enough that you can smell him, scent the gunpowder musk and bitter sadness and impatience on his skin.

 

 _One day. Not today._ You sigh, in a way that could be completely accidental, against the length of his arm.

 

**_Line._ **

 

Garp makes a cracked noise, hastily bitten down on, but he leans in further, almost close enough that you could lunge forward and rip out his throat, but you don't.

 

"I am not exactly feeling very forgiving," you claim instead. "I am supposed to forgive and trust someone I don't even know. Someone who has tied me up and _hurt me."_

 

Boldly, you tip your throat back, revealing pale flesh mottled with a distinct handprint - having slowed and redirected the energy for healing to a slow trickle.

 

 _He_ has always mentioned how easily you bruised, so you make good use of that trait of yours.

 

Any strained ligaments or joints had already been healed. All that was truly left was the superficial trauma of minor blood vessels under your skin - _but the impression it gave -_ a morbid, grotesque array of rotten flower petals staining your fair skin and soft features is more than enough to lower most defences.

 

Manipulative? _Perhaps_ , but you have never claimed otherwise. 

 

You are not a good person, keep that in mind. Sarcastic at best. Vengeful at worst.

 

 _And right now?_ Right now, you aren't feeling very forgiving.

 

"Scholar-san...." Garp breathes, eyes so wide you could almost pluck them out. "I am so sorry -" A sniffle. 

 

_**Sinker.** _

 

His fingers are feather-light against your skin, but it still makes you cringe, expecting the crushing grip and _pain_ -

 

"- sorry -"

 

 _I am not_ , you think, eyes half-lidded, head bowed in resignation to Garp's eyes.

 

He reaches around, holding you close to his chest in what was supposed to be a comforting hug but only served to make you claustrphobic and _helpless_ \- making you shudder.

 

Garp flinches like he was burned.

 

Finally, _finally_ \- the rope binding your hands falls away.

 

You smile, unkind and sharp.

 

* * *

 

The marines in the outpost are worked up into a frenzy - especially when a pair of relatively unknown pirates just decimated the majority of the force in less than a day. The fact that promising recruits and layers of defences are _nothing_ to these outlaws brings a visceral fear to the marines' hearts.

 

So it is no surprise that no one dares to make the first move, waiting, watching with some beaten-in fear that would certainly never fade once this incident was over if Rayleigh had anything to say about it.

 

" _Go._  I will take care of things here, Captain." Rayleigh smiles, itching for a chance to relieve some _stress_.

 

People tend to forget that the one who wins is the one who strikes first. _Offence_ , not defence.

 

Roger nods.

 

He hears more commotion behind him, but didn’t turn back, trusting Rayleigh to handle himself. Instead, he raced towards the walkway that led interrogation room, most certain that _that_ marine would be holding you there.

 

Skidding to a halt in front of the locked door with a plaque that read ' **Interrogation** ', Roger tensed, taking in a deep breath to tamp down the urge to go barrelling in - like how you taught him to.

 

Pressing an ear to the door, he strained to listen.

 

He hears a sound that he recognises as  _fists impacting flesh._

 

Gol D. Roger sees  ** _red_**.   

 

With a snarl, Roger drew his stolen sword, kicking open the door with a loud  _bang_.

 

 _“Oi_ , Marine, get your hands off my -” The haze of anger cleared as Roger _looked_. He flounders stupidly, at a loss for words.

 

You also freeze from where  _you_  had  _Garp_  pinned to the floor, fist still raised. Both pirate and marine turn their heads to look at Roger in surprise.

 

Roger beams, eyes shining. "That’s my luv!”

 

You cracked a small smile, a faint sign of your pleasure at seeing your Captain. Garp's loud swearing was muffled as you punched him through the floorboards for good measure.

 

_That's for punting me to the floor and walls, dipshit._

 

After making sure Garp would be stuck there, you stand up, brushing yourself off as you ambled to Roger, smirk widening - every inch the victorious warrior facing his sworn lord.

 

The heady feeling dissipates as you recall how you got everyone into this mess to begin with. And here to think that Roger would cause trouble first.

 

A burst of guilt shoots through you. You had caused him so much trouble - and - 

 

" 's fine. I understand your actions. Play your roles as long as you want. We are crimminals after all - misinformation is our game."

 

"Thank you." Pleasantly surprised, you incline your head, something private and almost shy in the upticked corners of your grin.  _"Captain."_

 

Roger reaches out, as if to ruffle your hair, but somehow the casually affectionate gesture turns into a caress. Your eyes close as you lean into the hand that strokes your cheek, simply taking the affection as another quirk of your King - never seeing the spark of anger light up in his eyes as he catches sight of the bruises lining your neck.

 

When you open your eyes, Roger is smiling, fond and sweet. 

 

He coils an arm around yours then, leaning in close.

 

"Will you do me a favour?" He murmurs, breath hot on your ears, tone sly and mischevious.

 

"Always." You laugh softly.

 

* * *

 

All is quiet. Rayleigh handled the marines - Roger picked off the stragglers as you ran about destroying evidence and creating false evidence... and Garp...

 

Garp is out of the way.

 

Not _permanantly_. You aren't _that_ mad to derail the plot, if at all. 

 

Locked up in a broom closet with a concussed mind, with the help of Rayleigh. You don't mind when Roger pilfers a Den Den Mushi to snap some blackmail pictures of Garp in weird positions - encouraging even.

 

However, there is a gloomy air around the teen. You understand when you glimpse the way Roger observes your injuries, fingers grazing your bruises to draw your attention to the dim sadness underlying the jovial warmth of his and you smile back, reassuring. 

 

Roger starts, looking so adorably confused you can't help but tease him a little more.

 

You press a finger to your lips, winking.

 

Before Roger and Rayleigh's astounded eyes, your bruises _fade_ away, leaving nothing but unblemished skin and a healthy flush on your features.

 

Rayleigh smiles, relieved, while Roger _throws_ his head back, guaffawing loudly.

 

He _looks_ back at you after, and you can see tears in the corners of his eyes.

 

While Roger tends to smile all the time, his smile now is a million times brighter.

 

Radiant.

 

"Shall we?" He asks, throwing an arm over your shoulders and Rayleigh's - Gol D. Roger is all warm sunshine after a raging storm.

 

_Certainly - wherever you want, whenever you want._

 

You nod.

 

(- _and so it begins_.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First arc complete, as the new year begins - now, ~~writer's block~~ adventure time!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Ronear:: Hello, nice meeting you there - and how did you read my mind? I... actually have the majority scenes you mentioned drafted out a long time ago already, especially with the future Yonko, but if you want any other additions to the plot, just say it ~  
> Anyways, thank you for your suggestions. I was considering whether a non-linear story would be palatable, so this'll be a good chance as any to test it out.
> 
> PS:: You'd probably dislike most of the smut then, because I won't be shying away from that anytime soon.


	13. interlude - 002

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't see - you don't see the way he hides his guilt behind the lies. All you see is that _attitude_ of his -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *introducing da buddha

 

 "I've decided. _That man_... is a SSS-Rank threat." Garp muttered.

 

That solemn expression was broken by the intermitten crunching of rice crackers, which was diminishing what little patience Sengoku had for his marine companion.

 

Then again, this was unusually serious - for Garp-standards. Perhaps getting tied up in a closet by a _scholar_ that had apparently been _seduced_ by a duo of no-name,  _rookie_  pirates had finally opened his eyes.

 

...It was a pity that those pirates hadn't knocked out Garp's annoying habit of eating and speaking at the same time though.

 

"Why do you think so?" Sengoku asked, hoping he wouldn't  _regret_  -

 

"A _smartass_ that's a _badass_ with a magnificent _ass_ all in one!" Garp wails, bits of crackers flying from his mouth to land  _everywhere_.

 

Said bits seemed to like Sengoku's freshly pressed marine uniform very, very much.

 

-  _Sengoku regrets it._  A lot. But violence is not the answer.

 

No matter how tempting.

 

Wiping himself with a handful of tissues, Sengoku reconsiders his choices in friends once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *just found out that anonymous work = anonymous comments  
> *so... each reply will be personal/quicker and no longer part of the 'end note'


	14. quirks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The defining traits of the Gold Roger crew_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *non-linear, bouncing around in the distant future  
> * **warnings for mild gore**  
>  **cheers for an appearance of super-rare gol d. roger POV

**• idiocy**

 

"[Name], as wonderful as this song sounds, don't you think the graphics of the music video could be... _better?"_

 

"More high definition?" You muse, zooming in on the scene on your stolen( _\- and hacked_ ) computer. Your Den Den Mushi makes an agreeing noise. You pet it happily.

 

Rayleigh ignores the purring snail, staring at the close up of a pair of Llama minks beating a human to death with a shovel in the middle of nowhere. While snowing.

 

"Not exactly," Rayleigh started. "I feel that the video could be changed to something else - maybe a dramatic romance-"

 

 _"Eeeh-_ " You pouted, a _horrible,_ disgustingly effective trait you copied from Roger. "But it's a tribute to the origin- _uh_ , inspirations for the song!"

 

"...what kind of inspiration? Fantastic Racism and Where to _Find_ It?" Rayleigh snarked.

 

"Hmm, that sounds -"

 

"No. [Name], _no."_

 

 _Bro. Fantastic Beasts are going to be a thing. You just wait and watch._ Outwardly, you frown, relenting. "Fine, but I ain't changing my music video though. It took _forever_ to get right-"

 

"No humans were harmed during the making of the video, right?"

 

 _"Of course..._ not."

 

 _Monsters aren't human anyways,_ you think, uncaring of the fact that you _miiight_ have just created snuff films. Rapists and psychopathic killers deserved nothing less.

 

Rayleigh rubbed his temples, clearly disbelieving. "Haven't you ever wondered _why_ most of society assume minks to be unfriendly and unwelcoming of outsiders to their land?"

 

"Because humans fear the unknown?" You tried. The snail made an agreeing noise once more. Anything for more pets.

 

_Nothing to do with me of course. Since when did I influence others? Utter poppycock! Hahaha -_

 

Rayleigh sighs for the umpteen time.

 

( _There ended up being two versions; one with the murdering - the other being a motion graphic lyric video with tragic romance drama in the background. Much controversy was had_.)

 

* * *

 

**• whimsical**

 

"Hey, [Name], what d'you think would be a good name for our crew?"

 

You raise a brow, a grin tilting your lips. "Really? Asking such a question after so long?"

 

"Hey, I just can't decide; we 'ave too many good names to choose from!"

 

"Then go through all of them til' you find one that sticks."

 

"Oh, okay - so what should we call ourselves in the meantime?"

 

"The Gold Roger pirates?" You suggest.

 

"Eh, naming a crew after the Captain's too common. I was thinking of something _cooler_ \- like that 'Raggy' thing you speak about sometimes."

 

_"Ragnarök?"_

 

"Yeah~ Imagine marines screaming 'bout the end of the world arriving!"

 

"Hmmm... _Tempting..."_

 

"Besides, it isn't going to do us any harm; changing our names like we change our ships frequently -"

 

"- that's because we always steal our vessels from the marines and other pirates as you get bored of the _'same ol' design'_ and tend to get them destroyed in interestingly creative ways -"

 

"Hey! The last time wasn't truly my fault - that weird kid from your home - _Kaidoo-something-or-the-other_ \- got us all into _that_ mess!"

 

"Really?" You smirk. "Because I distinctly remember it all starting-"

 

Roger interrupted you before the dirty laundry could be aired once more. "- _ahem_ , as I was saying, it don't matter! We've got to test everything out first to know what's best and what we want to have for an ideal ship! 'S convenient too, so we're killin' two birds with one stone~"

 

"Ye have ta have experienced something before ever dismissing it after all!" Roger declares smartly, puffed out in pride.

 

"You... just made that all up on the spot right?"

 

"Yeah." The captain admitted. "But it's logical, 'specially wit' our goal of an Adam wood ship..."

 

You sighed.

 

_"Sooo...?"_

 

"Yes, yes - go ahead."

 

Rayleigh sighed in his corner of the room, calmly adding a few more ship manuals to the pile he was reading as he absently jotted down the slew of names Roger was spewing after receiving your okay; resigning himself to become the second jack of trades in the crew. But with ships instead.

 

Really, why did everyone think that all boats operate with the same mechanics?

 

* * *

 

**• honesty**

 

You stare at the scene before you, speechless. Only for a moment though 'cause your brain formulates a reply near instantaneously.

 

Roger grins sunnily, chains jingling as he waved happily at you by his position at the town's execution platform, waiting his turn in line to be  _hanged_.

 

"What the _frick frack diddily dack patty wack snick snack crack pack slack mack quarterback crackerjack biofeedback backtrack thumbtack sidetrack tic-tac_ is this shit?"

 

Seeing as you had just left the ship to restock your food supplies only to return to  _this_  bullshit - mild cursing was to be expected.

 

Roger laughed, clapping enthusiastically like he was in a movie theatre and not in the midst of getting his ass  _hung._

 

Technically it was his neck, but -  _whatever._

 

Everyone stared.

 

"What?" Roger whines as all eyes turned to his sulky face. "Those were some neat lines. I was just being honest."

 

"Did that honesty get you into your current position?" You sneer.

 

A bead of sweat rolled down Roger's face.

 

"...Maybe?"

 

( _The rescue went smoothly. Rest assured that Rayleigh doled out appropriate punishment._ )

 

* * *

 

**• loyalty**

 

Even now, morale is high. So what if you're facing down an army with a handful of rebels and the smallest crew of pirates anyone has ever seen?

 

So what if the kingdom and marines are working together to kill you both?

 

So what?

 

You will survive.  _Everyone_ will _._ It's guaranteed; you, who have faced armies larger than this with a single man at your back - and your Captain, whose crew and bonds are unbreakable. 

 

You all have faced down madmen bent on destruction, swarms of mutant wildlife - even the World's agents.

 

_What's this but a trifle?_

 

The battlefield on the earth is _nothing_ like the battles on a sea. None of the swaying or cannons decimating the very land you stand on or the ocean beasts lurking below, waiting for a single misstep or a purposeful shove into dark waters.

 

Yet the screams, yells, the clash of blades and blazing guns and cannons and people killing and being killed as corpses piled around are unchanging.

 

At least the sea consumed her offerings quickly.

 

Roger is atop a growing mound of corpses, taking potshots with his ( _stolen_ )pistol before drawing his blade against an overenthusiastic soldier's that ended up with him lopping off his opponent's head with a slash of his sword.

 

Blood sprays in an arc, scoring a line of crimson easily hidden in the black of his pants.

 

The head bounces comically before rolling to a stop at your feet, the man's terrified expression evident despite the dirt and blood crusted onto his face. But you only have eyes for Roger.

 

Roger... Roger waves at you then, proud and happy.

 

You nod, resisting the urge to go over there and wipe the gore from his face and tell him to _try_ and _be neater please._

 

Roger only smiles knowingly, head tipping back in breezy laughter, his toothy grin glinting under the light. A faint breeze tugs at his open shirt as he stands tall, broad back counter to the sun, illuminating him in a halo of light.

 

_So very picturesque -_

 

Then, a shot rings out. 

 

_\- like some horrid cliché._

 

Roger wavers, and for a fleeting moment, you expect him to brush off the bullet, laughing - _gotcha there; didja think that'd get me?_

 

For a spilt second, you hope.

 

_Gol D. Roger **falls**._

 

That sentence sounds so _wrong_.

 

Slow motion, like someone had decelerated time to make sure you'd remember - ensure your keen eyesight _sees_ the blood slipping through his open jaws, the life leaving his eyes and the soft, quiet _thump_ of his body joining countless others, utterly unfitting of such an end.

 

The whole battlefield goes quiet.

 

Maybe that's just you.

 

Even so, there is a stillness in the air, like the world itself was waiting for a signal.

 

Yet there is no movement. Is it cowardice that you dare not run over, grab your captain by his shoulders and check?

 

 _Logically_ , you would eliminate any standing in the way and check for a pulse, then decimate the fools who dared to stand against him.

 

 _Use your Haki,_  common sense dictates. But what sense is left when the one you love most is irrevocably hurt?

 

( _Do you dare risk?_ )

 

 _Watch;_ imagine the loll of his limp head in your shaking grasp, the fading beat of his heart and the tang of hot blood soaking his form, staining his clothes an ugly red - a fallen lord amongst insects(- _not even worthy as a foe_ ).

 

Illogically, you would scream, wail your grief out to the heavens, vowing revenge and slaughter. 

 

( _Do you dare sin?_ )

 

 _Hunt_ ; rend apart flesh, fat, tendon and bone - grinding that futile hope into despair and boil your hatred in the warm blood saturating the soil beneath your feet - make them understand a fraction of the pain you feel, atone for their deeds.

 

Carve their sins into their flesh and _**char**_ them to ash and dust; stomp their remains into _nothing_.

 

Oh, how _tempting_ the latter choice sounds to the vengeful side of you.

 

You aren't really in the shape to be making proper, good, decisions though.  _ ~~A little bit of both sounds good. But maybe just a bit more wrath, more hurt, more blood, more souls -~~_

 

Mostly, you want to know why things turned out like this. _Why, why oh why oh why did Roger ha- have to -_

 

His bright smile, that joyous laughter and -

 

( _Heat builds up around you, filling the area with steam. The land around you withers. A growing storm above forms at unnatural speeds - even for the Grand Line_.)

 

This was  _ **not** how things were supposed to go._

 

This is  ** _not_**  the way it ends.

 

( _You are in that form again. Neither human nor beast - a god, an amalgamation, a painting breathed life upon. So **terribly** beautiful and resplendent in your Wrath_  -)

 

Really. 

 

( - _with your antlers like a crown, scales like a mantle, your will draped around you like a cloak, veiled in a bloody mist that did nothing to hide the obsidian of your hooves or the gold of your eyes, you -_ )

 

Rayleigh. Why do you  _l0o **k** s 0  **SaD**?_

 

( _You breathe deep the corruption. What little life, you take. The ground beneath you shudders, corpsed and broken._ )

 

Thunder rumbles like a ravenous dragon.

 

( _All life -_ )

 

 _Rejoice_. You have been Chosen, as you all desired. Judgement will be sowed upon you all.

 

An arrow falls short at where you stand.

 

You turn to see enemy reinforcements arriving. No surprise now that everyone now sees you as the biggest threat. They are screaming, hollering orders and demands, as if thinking that they could make you submit through sheer noise.

 

Your gaze drifts to the one who dared to lay a hand on Roger, not even giving the other soldiers the barest hint of acknowledgement. 

 

 _"I will wear your entrails like a **crown** ,"_ you promise, your tone kind, teeth sharp and jagged like cracked porcelain, taking delight in the way the fool's boastful aura curdles into primal fear.

 

Anger burns hot in you when the man turns to _flee_. 

 

How dare he. _How dare he run._ If he had stood his ground, you might have even respected him a little.

 

As it is -

 

( _You do not kill. You gift death where you cannot find it_.)

 

You clear the long stretch of land between you and that bastard with a single leap, and your hoof smearing him into paste is the last thing he sees.

 

Your crew wisely stays out of the way. Wise, but unnecessary. You never harm nakama. Ryuuma was the first and would be the last.

 

The _rest_ do not flee fast enough.

 

To you, the battle lasts too long, the rain droning on as lightning crackled and flashed in terrifying arcs, carving their paths into flesh, dirt and weaponry alike; as earth shattered and the seas _spilt_ to reveal the fearsome maws of hungering serpents that emerged from the seas, devouring all marked for death, sparing only the crew you journeyed with, and the rebels you allied with.

 

To everyone else, it's like the heavens casting Judgement upon the Earth.

 

 _Quick_ , efficient, **_ruthless_**.

 

The snap of sharp fangs a hair's breadth, the wet, smoky, charred stench of dying men and beast alike, boiled and burning alive in their amour, the howl of the storm like wrathful fury of a dead quiet Kirin who paved a gory trail to pluck the foolish king's head from his shoulders - and **crush** it like you did to the vice admiral's in a wet _pop_.

 

 You choose who will rise, and who will fall.

 

_And you have **chosen**. _

 

Dwindling hope is stamped into blatant despair under your baleful glare and dismissive Will. The enemy surrenders far too late.

 

A white flag of tattered, bloodstained rags - masses of terrified soldiers and haunted souls -

 

They are not your concern. The rebels can sort out the mess, once they come out of their daze.

 

Rayleigh is holding Roger in his arms. Guarding your Captain where you cannot. Fearlessly, patient and steady - you admire Rayleigh's manner as always.

 

You near your sworn brothers, feeling warm regard flare in your chest, though the heat is doused, morphing into shock as Rayleigh looks up at you with something resembling gratitude in his eyes.

 

_What is there to be thankful for?_

 

"Everything," Rayleigh says, stroking a curl of Roger's unruly hair back to reveal your captain's peaceful face. "You have set the world aflame."

 

A rather poetic way to describe crude destruction, but you'll take it. Just as you'll take any punishment Rayleigh saw fit to give for allowing your Captain to come to harm.

 

"You are not at fault here," Rayleigh gives you a look, chastising you for your accidental outspoken musings and depreciating manner.

 

"We all are," he adds after a heartbeat, voice dim.

 

Then, he lifts Roger's body to you - like an offering to appease the heavens.

 

Tentatively, your hand crept closer, mere millimetres from touching, wary and hopeful all at once as you Observed. 

 

Observed the _rise_ and fall of his chest. 

 

The steady tandem of his heartbeat entwined with the pulse of his soul.

 

_Oh._

 

_**Oh -**_

 

( _He's alive_.) Trembling, you fall to your knees in supplication.

 

Roger's eyelids open, revealing the dark, liquid depths of his eyes. Living - _awake_. He reaches out, touching your damp cheek to brush away a tear.

 

It falls to the ground. A flower blooms, its petals red as blood. ( _Higanbana._ )

 

 _"Armament Haki's clutch aye?"_ He chuckles, a little unhinged, his teeth white against red.

 

You slip your hand under his clothes - run a hand down his side, feeling only sweat-slick skin, the flex of his muscles as he breathed and the ugly heat of a massive contusion forming where the bullet had impacted.

 

"Guess I can do it on reflex now," he notes, leaning into you, sighing as you take _life_ from your surroundings in an offering - a healing balm for his wounds.

 

A flower withers.

  

* * *

 

**• selfish(jealousy)[?]**

 

It's a party like any other. After a series of adventures that ended with the opposition dead, the victors decided to throw a party.

 

That wasn't unusual - after all, the winners were the mafia, which the Roger pirates had sided with after some negotiations on both parties. Mainly involving you and a rather love-struck Don, because Roger was utterly _useless_ in sensitive matters and Rayleigh was Damage Control.

 

Roger disagrees heartily, but admits that having the Don idolising you made things _smoother_.

 

But that's neither here nor there.

 

 _This_ was a celebration to celebrate life, living to adventure another day, tasting freedom beneath the sails of the ship and excitement on the breeze.

 

It was a party like any other, yet this time when Roger sees various strangers flirting with you, a bitter feeling grows in him.

 

Normally, he takes glee in watching people fall over themselves to please you - knowing that you only had eyes for him, but this time, it's different.

 

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, maybe those emotions have always been festering in him - either way, Roger is _sick_ ; sick of watching the people cosy up to you - never touching - _you're off limits, and too dangerous -_ but it's little comfort to Roger.

 

Not when you only smirk and encourage their advances, absently bobbing your head in time to the music as you conversed with the bartender, accepting the free flow of drinks from your admirers.

 

Roger can feel jealousy taking hold of him when you finish the last of your drinks and a particularly bold lady leans in close, cherry red lips pouting and you, for some reason, nod and take her by her hand onto the dance floor.

 

You are not drunk - _far_ from it in fact.

 

You might be flushed, a pretty dash of rouge on your cheekbones to add to your otherworldly allure, but your constitution is ridiculously strong and your Devil Fruit purges all poison from your system in record time, rendering you sober and immune to most poisons, alcohol especially. Roger knows that - and it makes the following view all the more biting.

 

You are a sight together, a buxom lady in red and a princely rogue - but Roger only has eyes for you. 

 

The woman giggles, pressing her bosom to your arm when you release her, pouting and tracing circles on the firm set of your pectorals.

 

Before Roger could stomp over and pull you both apart, you gently reject the lady, murmuring something into her ears before making your way over to him.

 

She sighs, but gives you a kiss on your cheek before fluttering away. Graceful, even in defeat.

 

Much to Roger's growing fury, yet _another_ person interferes - some moron from one of the many allied crew of pirates that the mafia had invited as thanks. Some _blockhead_ that looked as brutish as he acted.

 

The **annoyance** ignores him, eyes greedily feasting on you, grubby paws unfaltering despite your cold shoulder.

 

Your dismissal the stranger's advances, ignoring his boasts with a cool indifference that makes Roger smirk. Fame and strength meant nothing to one as powerful and long-lived as you. 

 

Of course, like the average drunk pirate high off his meagre achievements, the man becomes angry, turning to intimidation - proclaiming that you were nothing more than a  _slut_ , some flat-chested _bitch_ who thought too highly of yourself and that, **_that_ ** gets Roger's fury raging like a firestorm. 

 

You keep a cool composure, mild interest in your eyes as you watched the man dig his own grave.

 

The Don's expression is black as his smile is mirthless, as are those on Roger's crew(- _each with sharp grins and sharper blades_ ), and if Roger had waited a mere moment more, the offender would have been dragged off for a permanent culling - but Roger was never a patient person.

 

This is a matter of pride and your honour - and by extension, his crew's. If they did not react, allowing the mafia to handle it, Roger would be seen as weak, or unwilling to fight - incapable of handling such a simple matter.

 

But Roger doesn't think about all that. He doesn't care for the ramifications or etiquette or _anything_.

 

( _Your safety and happiness is what matters._ ) You are his treasure, and no one would take that away from him. He is fucking possessive, as he is slowly coming to realise, but he won't admit it.

 

Just as he had promised his crew - he would fight for them, just as they would have his back, he would have theirs, as _nakama_.

 

Roger, to everyone's surprise - and himself too - laughs. It is hollow, mocking, but the other pirate seems to take it as approval.

 

"Ye have _major coconuts,_ I'll give you that." 

 

You let out a surprised note of laughter.

 

Then Roger calmly grabs the offender by his shoulder. You move out of the way smoothly, an inquisitive glint in your gold eyes. Watching. Waiting.

 

And Roger always aims to astound.

 

 _"What?"_ The hulking man snarls, seeing Roger as someone beneath him due to the massive difference in size.

 

But size means nothing.

 

Roger simply reaches out, cupping the sides of the man's head in a deceptively gentle hold and - and  _digs_ his fingers into the man's eyes.

 

Calmly, ignoring the pirate's screams, Roger keeps his hold firm, immobilising the bulky man despite his thrashing and bringing the latter to his knees in an impressive feat of strength.

 

 _"Ssh, ssh,"_ Roger coos over the man's keening. "You should have known better than to touch what's **mine**."

 

Mildly satisfied at the lack of protest, Roger simply twists his thumbs in the ruined sockets before pulling them out with an ugly _squelch_. 

 

You stare at the gore coating his fingers, stunned, but not disgusted.

 

Without prompting, you take the straw hat from Roger's head, tucking it close to your chest carefully and bow, retreating to a better vantage point to watch the show.

 

Roger grins, cracking his knuckles.

 

Like a signal, all not wanting to be involved made a beeline for the exits and the remainder began to brawl - those of the offender's crew, and that of Roger's.

 

* * *

 

Of course, even without thinking - the winner is obvious.

 

The Maelstrom Pirates were no more.

 

No one was spared - apart from the Captain, who was fortunate - or unfortunate enough to _not_ be present during the spectacle. The survivor( _s_ ) would undoubtedly be barred from these territories and no longer be considered an ally - not if they wanted the cooperation of the Roger Pirates and well, when faced with the choice of everyday scrap or gold - everyone would pick gold.

 

You muse upon all this as you sat on a velvet armchair - your preferred choice of seat to watch the chaos unfold. 

 

The slap- _squelch_ of blood-soaked sandals nearing your direction makes you focus on the person -

 

 _Roger_ , bright-eyed and heart pumping with adrenaline, gore smeared in a morbidly artful way across his lean form.

 

Stunning, eye-catching - a tyrant king that we all know and love.

 

He laughs, every bit arrogant and victorious as he strode towards you, straddling your languid body in a slick move - to which you remove his straw hat from your lap to let it rest on the wing of your armchair.

 

 _"Kirin,"_ he purrs, licking a speck of blood off his lip. Bloodstained fingers trace your jawline before pressing gently at the edge of your lips.

 

You give way, lips parting, taking in the offered digits and tasting metal. The soft pressure of his callused finger pads linger on your tongue before withdrawing with a final tap on your lips.

 

 _"[Name] -"_ he sighs in afterthought when you continue gazing at him, eliciting a dilation of your eyes - black eating up the gold hungrily. 

 

You jolt when Roger splays his hand on the centre of your chest, resting just beneath your collarbones, the other grasping your chin, allowing him to reclaim what was his in a clash of lips that made your teeth clack together - dominating and bloody in the crudest way.

 

It's possessive, _filthy_ \- half-dried blood flaking off on the soft material of your clothes, heated, impulsive and every bit _Roger_.

 

"Roger - _my King,"_ you begin gently, brow tensing when blunt nails dug into your chest. His fingers then found their way to your waist, tightening hard against your hip.

 

Your back arches involuntarily, pressing your weight forward and exposing the vulnerable curve of your neck against the taut lines of Roger's body and he growls lowly, sounding raw and satisfied by your reaction.

 

"I am yours." You assure him, soothing his unspoken words and worries.

 

You can't deny the thrill shooting through you when Roger acts like this - it's always a delightful thing to know that there is someone that wants you - _that would protect and **kill** for you as you would for them_ \- and however unhealthy that relationship would be considered in Earth's society, you give no fucks.

 

Who was to dictate your morals?

 

 _ **No one -**_ that's why you became what you became - that's why you picked freedom - and if it came with this beautifully vicious slip of a king, then well... that's just a _bonus_.

 

Roger smiles ever so sweetly then, body untensing as if reading your mind - and then he yawns, jaw-crackingly loud and unseemly, breaking the moment -

 

\- and slumps into your hold, snoring away. 

 

Shaking your head with a soft smile, you place the straw hat back on Roger's head before gathering him up in your arms.

 

"We will be retiring for the night," you declare, eyes shifting to fall on Rayleigh, who nods in silent agreement - daring anyone to speak up otherwise.

 

No one stops you.

  

* * *

 

**• dreamer**

 

Your cheek is pressed against the gentle curve of Rouge's swelling belly, humming a soft tune as you Sensed the life growing within. The little presence is warm, like a slip of the sun captured in cold hands in a wintry night, and soft, like silk.

 

So very fragile, yet with that staunch determination for life that exists in all living things - and burns even brighter in those with the Will.

 

You croon, sweet and low.

 

_"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..."_

 

The words fall from your lips, unbidden, instinctual.

_"You make me happy when skies are grey."_

 

Rouge picks up where you left off, her pretty voice singing her favourite lullaby easily.

 

  
"You'll never know dear, how much I love _you,"_ she sighs, cupping the swell of her belly, absently running a hand down your cheek as she hummed.

 

"I do."

 

Roger's gentle rumble interrupts you both from the moment.

 

 _"Roger!"_ Rouge gasps.

 

You are calmer, a slow smile spreading across your face as you incline your head to him in greeting lazily.

 

"Captain."

 

Rouge blushes as you help her to her feet, leading her to a starry-eyed Roger who greets her with a chaste kiss. You can easily envision the happy future awaiting them, a beautiful couple, and a wonderful child.

 

Your eyes fall upon the quiet Rayleigh, who stood steadfast, like a sentinel, till he was faced with your bright eyes.

 

 _"[Name],"_ he greets with a kind of breathless wonder, striding to you, linking his fingers with yours to pull you into a kiss. 

 

Warm hope, gentle possessiveness and affection. A protector. You are home.

 

"Welcome home," you sigh into his mouth, stealing another kiss. 

 

~~_What a wonderful house of cards -_ ~~

 

( _Please don't take my sunshine away -_ )

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *chpt 14, for Feb 14  
> *my version of a valentine's to y'all  
> *enjoy, and have fun with the references
> 
> PS:: feedback is highly appreciated - also, which drabble is your favourite?


	15. before we die,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trio of idiots join forces to rule, er, screw the world. First, recruiting. Next, pillaging. Then, _viva la revolución_ \- wait. No.
> 
> One more time. Recruiting. Adventuring. Stealing. Shanking - no.
> 
> ...Nevermind.

You have visited countless lands, places each more mystical than the last, so it's no wonder that nothing surprises you these days. You keep logs and write of your adventures, but you rarely speak of them unless asked by the right person at the correct timing.

 

These were all common places to you. Fishman Island, the City of Gold, Dragon's Nest, the Giants' Land - they meant nothing compared to the _madness_ of Roger's time.

 

 _That_ was the true Pirate Age.

 

None of the friendship and Devil Fruit bullshit. More old school betrayal and shanking and plotting and warring. People were more cruel then, more desperate. Depending on their own wit and strength rather than the unfair, physic-wrecking thing that were Devil Fruits.

 

Before the Great Pirate Age that Roger started, people became pirates when there was no other choice; when living meant slavery or submitting to an authority's will, these folks take their chance out in the ocean, just for a glimpse of freedom. 

 

Things were harsher then - you would freely admit that. Little would be missed of the old days, only the memories formed with those precious few.

 

You and Roger and Rayleigh and the rest of the crew bloodied their hands far more than Doflamingo ever did, but you all were kinder when killing.

 

In a saying, for your Captain, he had unleashed the worst in all of you.

 

All of you knew that, and Roger knew what you all had sacrificed to his dreams, so maybe that's why things became the way they did. 

 

Times spent playing doll to a princess is nothing to the days upturning the heavens, wrecking governments and frolicking in battlefields. 

 

Years spent alone are nothing to cooperating with the marines for the sake of a common goal, secretly establishing a network that encompassed the world - that would all culminate in the end of the World.

 

People _ooh_ and _aah_ at the thought of meeting kings and exploring a land back in time, but that's nothing to someone who has watched civilisations rise and fall, and seen heroes and madmen alike all forgotten in the flow of time.

 

Someone who had their equal share in fighting and being courted by said beings above even till now.

 

Logbooks cannot describe the tribulations and joys and adventures you had with your crew and _nothing_ ever will.

 

No one will ever know of the bleak lands and forgotten lineages - all the trials and tribulations that carved the throne of your king.

 

No one will ever talk about how close you all would have been to demise, or your close shave with eternal emptiness, and maybe if you run fast enough,  _ **he**_ will never find you.

 

_A taste of freedom, once had, will never be enough -_

But every now and then, a reunion and drink with old comrades might bring back the good times. 

 

\- and there's always the future to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *teaser chapter but...  
> *i'll be ticking off things one at a time. Slow and steady lads - we have time at our fingertips


	16. - let's revolt against the order of the world.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Roger's campaign against the World actually started - through honest motivations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *it's always the minor things that count the most

Everyone was having a good run so far. You had acquired a new ship(- _a small marine vessel that could fit a dozen people; more than enough for a handful of pirates_ ), new crewmates, supplies and enough food to last a Roger-filled month.

 

The 'canteen' of the ship had been remodelled into a living area that one would find in a typical house rather than a boat, perfect for a spot of tea and some knowledge-delving.

 

Rayleigh, who got along with you like a house on fire, was more than eager to help out the renovations - and spent his fair share of time here - like now.

 

Spending a companionable silence together was pleasant as always.

 

Scopper was on lookout duty today, though you were certain he would come by the library later on.

 

Roger was -

 

"Captain's out again?"

 

"Mhm." You nod, not looking up from your editing of your newest book. "As usual. He's plannin' something big I suppose."

 

"Ah. Hopefully the marines won't catch on."

 

Pause. Then laughter filled the air.

 

Roger barged in just as you both calmed.

 

"Hee _eeeeyyy_ \- Rayleigh, Kirin -" Roger hollered by way of greeting, "Surprise! Look what I got~"

 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

 

You glance at him, eyeing the Wanted poster waved back and forth in his hand.

 

"Your first bounty?" Rayleigh asked mildly. While he was disapproving(- _as higher bounties meant more troubles, he knew that Roger saw it as a ranking, where higher meant better_ ), he accepted the news as it was.

 

"Yep." Roger's eyes glinted. "You know what this means..."

 

"Celebratory drinks," you and Rayleigh chorused as one, knowing your Captain's love of alcohol.

 

* * *

 

"First bounty goes to me!" Roger announced, grinning wide.

 

"Congratulations," you reply warmly, a hint of pride in your tone as you all toasted to Roger's bounty.

 

It was certainly not the highest in the seas, but Roger was happy, and that's all that matters.

 

"I must ask though," Scopper spoke up. "Do the marines in this area write down all the bounties by hand? I must say, that poster looks rather... _handmade_ -"

 

 _"Whaaat?_ Oi, oi, are you doubting me now, Scopper?" Roger pouted, jabbing at the neat calligraphy on the poster. "I stole this straight from their office y'know. Newly minted, hot from the oven, _numero uno_ and all that."

 

"Wait." You inhaled deeply, rousing from your semi-mediative state. "Did you _infiltrate_ the marine headquarters and steal this very bounty from their _archives_?"

 

"Yeah - weren't you payin' any attention?" 

 

"That explains the increase in marine patrols and your earlier absences then," Rayleigh deduced, swirling a glass of whisky in hand.

 

"You did a good job though," You add, turning Roger's pout into a smile.

 

Well, at least your captain didn't get imprisoned, but...

 

Couldn't Roger have waited till they officially released the posters first instead of stealing it right out of their base?

 

_But then again, Roger wasn't known for his patience..._

With an exasperated smile, you down your chosen poison.

 

It doesn't even itch.

 

"Heyyy, Kirin, what's with that droll expression - aren't you happy?"

 

"I... can't get drunk." _My Devil-Fruit boosted metabolism doesn't allow me to._

 

"Sobriety's good. Steering a ship while drunk only leads to disaster," Scopper spoke wisely, surprisingly philosophical once plyed with a few rounds.

 

"..." Roger looked thoughtful. It was scary.

 

"..." _Oh Rayleigh, don't look jealous. I can't even drink to forget._

"More for me then!" Roger cheered, never one to see the downside of things.

 

* * *

 

To no one's surprise, Roger woke up with a hangover. 

 

Rayleigh had a suspicious amount of experience in pacing himself for a teen, and you were pretty much immune to alcohol and its depravities due to your Devil Fruit.

 

Scopper was smart enough to hydrate between drinks - nuff said.

 

You collect your news from a passing Coo, tipping it with a few extra ฿eri for the additional list of updated bounty posters.

 

"Oh..." You hummed as you caught sight of Roger's bounty before doing a double-take. "WANTED: _GOLD_ ROGER, Dead or Alive -"

 

" _Waaaait_ a moment - _what_ didja say?" Roger finally looked up from his mug of tea, no longer so morose at having been denied his _'Hair of Dog'._

 

"Dead or Alive -"

 

Roger waved a hand. " 'fore that."

 

"Gold... Roger?" You tried, inwardly wincing at the unintended butchering of Roger's name. 

 

"NO! Nuh-uh -" Roger whined, clutching his head pitifully when a beam of sunlight poked through the windows and jabbed him in the eye.

 

Rayleigh looked on, amused.

 

"-that's not my name," Roger protested, taking a furious gulp of his drink - slamming his mug on the table. He caught himself at the last moment when you shot him a glare, choosing to set it down with a noisy thud instead.

 

"Why though?" Scopper wondered, setting down the cup of cider he had been nursing. "Didn't they already get everything written out? Why the sudden change?" He added with a gesture at the pinned bounty poster on the fridge's doors.

 

You remained silent, flipping through the papers.

 

Roger made a moaning noise. "It's Gol  _D._ Roger - not  _Gold_  Roger -" 

 

"Well, it seems that a miscreant had broken into the marine's archives and ruined many a file, causing a complete do-over on all files, inclusive of bounty posters." You explained with a cool smirk.

 

"Ah." Scopper pursed his lips. "In their hurry to rectify their mistake, they made a typo and mass-produced said error."

 

"Heh," Rayleigh sniggered at his captain's misfortune.

 

"Argh-" Roger groaned, and proceeded to attempt to drown himself in tea.

 

* * *

 

His moodiness only lasted for an hour.

 

Then, Roger was **_furious_** \- and more than ready to knock out some fools if it meant a correction of the typo in his bounty.

 

You take a backseat and watch the chaos unfold.

 

( _Scopper, that enabler, only served to fuel Roger's temper more, which ended up in the majority of the outposts being destroyed and an increase in bounties for everyone involved - excluding you_.)

 

* * *

 

A couple days later found the merry band of four standing outside a tavern, eyeing a signboard tacked with a multitude of wanted bounties for one _'Gold Roger'._

 

 "So... what did you think this was going to accomplish?" You asked Roger.

 

"Not _this!"_ Roger spluttered angrily, waving a hand at the signboard.

 

"Well, it is only natural for the marines to get the wrong impression when you set fire to your wanted posters and proceed to set said marines on fire for interfering." Rayleigh spoke as you and Scopper nodded in agreement, much to Roger's chagrin.

 

"I- I just..."

 

"Yes Roger?"  _Are you finally seeing the price of your impulsiveness? Do you understand -_

 

" - fucking hate the law." Your Captain announced.

 

"Roger!" You gasped, scandalised.

 

"Oh, sod it." Roger rolled his eyes. "You've said worst."

 

"True. I was just doing it to be the token overly sensitive character."

 

Scopper raised a brow, but held his silence otherwise. 

 

No matter, he'd become one of you soon enough.

 

"Excellent." Rayleigh rolled with it. "Now that we have established our roles, what is our next plan of action?"

 

Contemplative pause.

 

"Scopper?"

 

"Putting enough space between us and them before they get a chance to regroup and surround us on land." 

 

_Oh Scopper, this is why I love you._

 

"Kirin?" 

 

"Lay low, set a path for uninhabited territories in case any vice admirals get sent by to check things out. We can just do whatever we want in the meanwhile."

 

You shrug." - 's not like the marines got a good look at all of us or of our transport -"  _Roger destroyed all evidence in his rampage_ was left unsaid but understood all the same.

 

Rayleigh inclined his head agreeably, smiling encouragingly at Roger.

 

"Captain?"

 

"...we'll overturn the World." Roger declared, the shadows of his hat covering his expressive eyes but doing nothing to hide his vicious grin.

 

_Deja vu much?_

 

"Just like that, Captain?" Rayleigh murmured, voice strangely soft, not even chiding as you had expected.

 

_Just like that, you declare war on the world?_

 

"Just like that." Roger echoes back.

 

"As you wish." Rayleigh said, voicing out your thoughts, because for all of Roger's faults, for all of his orders, as his Second Mate, Rayleugh would follow it through, as his loyal subordinate and friend.

 

You won't dissuade him, no, not all.

 

( _The clash of freedom against the World - it's foretold in the stars - and who are you to stand against it?_ )

 

* * *

 

"Do you remember?" Rayleigh questions with a tilt of his drink at an all-too familiar wanted poster - weathered by time but still in good condition.

 

_('Ne, [Name], what's with the long face? Aren't you happy -?')_

You shake your head, laughing as you looked at the old pin-up poster of your Captain; Gol D. Roger, a close up of him smiling cheekily with that iconic straw hat on his head, his unbuttoned dress shirt a contrast against the backdrop of the rising sun - _though his written bounty was faded and rendered indecipherable by age -_ and down a shot of Haki-infused alcohol.

 

"Always."

 

It burns.

 

( _But it's never enough_.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *i swear the next chapter is no downer


	17. together,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _\- no one can stand in our way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * wibbly wobbly timey wimey  
> * feel free to assume a timeline for when this happened - _you_ are the reader after all

_(Give me a choice -)_

 

Roger grabs a bottle of sake.

 

Rayleigh gets the cups.

 

You pick the blade.

 

Together, you three exchange the bonds of brotherhood; bound by fate, promise and blood.

 

Alcohol mingles with freshly shed blood in an addictive; clasped hands tingle in aftershock of self-inflicted wounds; lifeblood mixing and energies melding seamlessly, leaving naught but a scar signifying brotherhood of the deepest bonds.

 

It is a promise, _binding_  you to the ground - yet it's strangely liberating. ( _You'll always have a home with us._ )

 

You can't help the tear that trickles down your cheek. Is it happiness? pride? solemnity or sorrow for what will come? 

 

Only you know. 

 

Rayleigh merely smiles - but the happiness in his eyes is unmistakable.

 

Roger is the most exuberant( -  _of course, he is your king, it is only natural_ ).

 

 _He_ laughs then, warm and fierce; wild and _free_ , pressing a kiss to Rayleigh's cheek and then to your lips, tasting of ichor and sake.

 

_( - and the world will burn.)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * tired. sorry


	18. we shall gather a crew -

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyone and everyone is accepted. 
> 
> We do not discriminate. 
> 
> We do not hate. 
> 
> We do not fear the unknown.
> 
> If you have a dream, if you are willing to take a stand, you are one of us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Over 300 kudos. ...You all have been very kind and patient.
> 
> Thank you, thank you for giving this story a chance, thank you for liking it, thank you for reviewing it, thank you for everything. I might not be good at expressing it, but I am very grateful for everyone's presence and for all the time you all have spent.
> 
> The best encouragment is to see all your reviews and kudos, so thank you, for brightening up my day. I love seeing all your comments, so please don't hold back.
> 
> That being said, please enjoy this chapter -

Gol D. Roger has countless crew members, ever-changing and plentiful as the ocean's salt - 

 

He accepts them all when they come, but he only ever did select a few by hand, no matter what the rumours said.

 

* * *

 

**• hand(s)**

 

Rayleigh is technically the second man he recruited no matter what others said. 

 

 _You_ are the first - but history rarely mentions you. The only tales left are those of word and the rare inscriptions by the few that managed to escape government scruntiny.

 

That's fine with Roger, cause he knows that you hate the limelight - why else would you only ever be around for the important missions and spend most of your time with the core members only? - why else would your true face have gone undocumented for so long; the best image of your bounty poster being a human figure in a gentlemanly suit but sporting the majestic head of a kirin, oddly disporportional yet fitting?

 

Roger _knows_ that he has made the correct choice when he first set eyes on you(- _then Rayleigh_ ).

 

 _Shall we overturn the world together -_ he had asked with the underlying words -  _will you be mine -_ and you both replied ' _yes_ ' in the end, and Roger **_knows_** -

 

With his Left and Right in place - he can steer the future as he wishes.

 

* * *

  **• gunner**

 

After Scopper came Peace.

 

Cobalt Peace - a hunter that took up the position of lookout and gunner on the ship. Wonderfully loyal and every bit cutting in his retorts as his skill with his gun.

 

Another of the core members of the crew that had been recruited by Roger.

 

He had been testing out his skills against the prehistoric wildlife of Little Garden, only to fall prey to the Kestia ticks - nearly dying from the subsequent infection.

 

If not for Roger's timely arrival and your ability to heal most thing, Cobalt would truly be resting in peace.

 

That earned his loyalty - unwavering and near-worshipful; disturbing Roger sometimes with how deep that devotion ran but it's cool.

 

That Cobalt is of the same mindset; willing to _dream_ with Roger is more than enough - and the rest was history.

 

( _Cobalt being an excellent guitarist and tanner was just another perfect fit into one of your many side projects_.)

 

* * *

 

**• sword**

 

 A weapon was a neccessary thing on the high seas - be it physical or pyschological, that never changes.

 

For that, it was no surprise that Oden's position would be one of a fighter. He was one of the later members to join - just before the crew found One Piece and after gaining the Oro Jackson.

 

They had met during a tournament, where they had to face off one another before being paired up against other combatants. Through fighting, both were able to gain a sense of camraderie, leading to Roger's invitation to join the crew and Oden's acceptance.

 

For a king candidate of his nation, Oden was surprisingly indecisive - which often makes his retainers and nakama be the ones to slap sense into him. Literally at times.

 

It is a weakness - a blade cannot hesitate; a blow cannot pause mid-strike or most of the momentum and effectiveness would be lost, and Oden would have to rid himself of this trait.

 

You were remarkably useful in ridding the Kozuki heir of this flaw, though it was still a work in progress. 

 

( _Besides Roger, you were arguably the person that Oden actually obeyed._ ) Everyone else's opinions and orders were often _'taken under consideration',_ much to their annoyance.

 

It's a rare moment that Roger says something sensible and for Oden to  _listen_.

 

"They say I am too sentimental." Oden grouses morosely, drinking from his sake bottle. "Do... do you think so too?"

 

Roger shakes his head. "There's nothing wrong with reminescing over the past."

 

A pause, as his Captain considered his next words.

 

"I won't tell you rubbish like _'never look back'_. There is nothing wrong with looking back, but don't restrain yourself or stop in your tracks because of that."

 

Roger looked to the campfire, eyes drifting to you as you strummed your guitar, firelight illuminating your calm face. In the little clearing within the forest, only the sounds of nature and soft conversation were present over your gentle acoustic tune.

 

Gol D. Roger is surprisingly philosphical and insightful when calm, Oden realises. _More layers than an onion -_ according to Cobalt.

 

"- even if you walk backwards, your eyes on the past, your feet must move forward, always. This is to not let the regrets of the past repeat themselves; I believe you understand this simple maxim."

 

Oden was silent for a moment. Then, he nodded, standing up. "I understand. Sorry to disturb you today, my Lord."

 

"...you are never a disturbance - _none of you are."_ Roger dismisses him with surprising eloquence. "We are nakama - and I am your Captain. It is only natural that _I_ am here for  all of you."

 

Oden smiles in gratitude, bowing deeply before retiring to a quieter area of the campsite to watch the stars burn out.

 

* * *

 

**• lookout**

 

Indium Calabretta was the last of the _founding_ crew to be recruited - the skeleton of the crew that would always be _there_ when the rest left for one reason or another.

 

Roger found a friend in Indium, one that would goad him on and play along to his antics - shit-talking included. A much needed toxicity and rival, like good booze.

 

Both had actually gotten into an argument - then into a good ol' fight that only stopped when the local authorities interfered.

 

Turning their anger onto the unsuspecting marines, Roger was happy to have found common ground with Indium within that span of time and as cliché as it was, it worked out and they ended up becoming comrades. 

 

"Hey, shit-head - yer listenin'? Or are ye fantasising of tha' navigator of yours?" Indium smirks, making a series of kissy faces to your face in the potrait of the Demon Trio (- _aka Roger, you and Rayleigh_ ) in the logbook.

 

Roger flushed. "What the hell - don't say that kind of things! I was just thinkin' of our first meeting, you rude  _prick_."

 

"Oi, oi - what are ya goin' on about? I'm a motherfucking angel; a pure being that's never lusted over or cursed anyone." 

 

"..."  _You lying with a straight face is more believable._

 

"Yer full of shit, y'know?" Roger grumbled.

 

"Yeah. Constipation on the high seas 's a terrible trend wit' me."

 

( _Indium 17, Roger - 0_ )

 

* * *

 

**• chef**

 

Another day, another adventure.

 

And to supplement said adventure's costs, you decided to make some quick money for furture supplies.

 

Relying on your cooking abilities and opening up a streetside store was the safest - in comparison to robberies or plundering or scamming like a crimminal.

 

Roger would giggle at the sight of a pirate concerned with legality(- _and probably try to consume whatever you cooked_ -), which was why Rayleigh had distracted him with a long series of tasks.

 

Thanking Rayleigh in your heart, you began the preparations for the day, and soon enough, a wonderous fragrance began wafting out from your little shop, attracting curious folk for miles.

 

Your future crewmate was one of them.

 

(- _and for once, Roger had no hand in recruiting him._ )

 

* * *

 

He had always considered himself a consumer of good food - and so when he heard of the appearance of a temporary stall with delicious food, he could not help but leave his workshop to try it out.

 

As an inventor, Ferro Rocher could claim that he would dabble in all things for curiosity's sake, ranging from mechanics to blacksmithing to cooking - and while he was a good handyman, his culinary skills were nothing he could really boast about in comparison to actual chefs, so he always sought improvement.

 

So it's no surprise that when he smelt the meal you were preparing, he ran over in his excitement, not even bothering with cleaning himself up.

 

Tasting the food you were selling for the day(- _takoyaki at the moment, it changed daily depending on what ingredients were instock in the markets, which further impressed Ferro at your versatility_ ) - was enough for him to fall in love with it. Now, he only had one goal mind; to learn from you, no matter the cost.

 

After all, if he apprenticed himself to you, he would be able to eat all the good food in the world!

 

* * *

 

You have had many admirers and pursuers throughout the years - though this strange teen that smelt of machinery, woodwork and spices was one that intrigued you. 

 

Judging by the metalworking tools on his belt and his roughened hands, this was probably an inventor. 

 

A successful one too, as you noted by the civilians' respectful nods and admiring glances as they shuffled out of his way.

 

He orders one of each item, eyes bright and enthusiastic, tipping you generously as he scarfed them down - and promptly got another dozen orders of the day's special; takoyaki. 

 

His cumbersome attire and strange assortment of equipment - _reminding you of a steampunk mechanic and gentleman combined -_ did nothing to detract from the image of a particularly pleased pooch in your mind.

 

Chomping happily on the octopus balls laden with thick gravy and flaky bonito, the guy declared his desire to become your apprentice.

 

 _"Please lemme learn from you!"_ The kid begged again for the umpteen time. If not for the storefront seperating you both, there was no doubt he'd be glued to your legs.

 

"Wait until the end of the day." You decided to test his mettle. "No disturbances while I work. If you can prove yourself, I will accept."

 

Hearing that, the teen shut up and watched from the side, becoming the lookout and impromptu garbage disposal for any misfired orders. You could almost see the perky dog ears and wagging tail behind him.

 

( _It was a fun day._ )

 

* * *

 

"So..."

 

"Did I do well? I did, yeah? Unobtrusive yet adding to the atmosphere like the perfect garnish - don't you think so?"

 

The description made you crack a small, genuine smile - nothing like the ones you offered before.

 

"Yes. You can be patient - and inventive too, am I right?" You observe.

 

"Yep yep~" Ferro grinned, teeth white against his ash-smudged cheeks as he gave you a thumbs up.

 

"Ferro Rocher, the most creative inventor you'll ever find! I dabble in a bit of everything, but repairing stuff and inventing stuff to be better is my forte~!" The teen tipped his fedora to you, the goggles on it glinting in the sunset.

 

Ashen hair framed the boyish face and warm brown eyes, very much like a cuddly critter.

 

You nod. "Ferro Rocher - inventor, possible shipwright and chef?"

 

"I am just a mere novice in comparison to you, my good sir," Ferro says, wanting to flatter you more after spotting a glint of hesitation in your eyes.

 

"Not only that, you are wonderful to the eyes too. A smile that's more radiant than the shine of Canton Treasure-Bird Fried Rice, more warm than a rich mug of freshly brewed spiced hot chocolate, more tender than the meat bursting out of a freshly snapped crab leg, and more alluring than the temptation of the rare ortolan." Ferro praises, finishing off his speech with flair. "But no delicacy can compare to your smile, illuminated by the dying light."

 

You remain silent - and a frission of unease bloomed in Ferro's heart.

 

But then you _laugh_ , good and long.

 

~~_Danger averted, the primal side of Ferro untenses, slumping in ease._ ~~

 

It is a warm sound - somewhat stiff, but real happiness looks good on you, like the glaze on delicate puff pastry.

 

"You, I like." You reply bluntly, showing off that sweet, bemused smile, uncomprehending yet interested at Ferro's ways. 

 

"You have a good name and skill alongside that glib tongue. But... there is another issue." You blink languidly - and Ferro steers himself for rejection, for mockery that _a crazy inventor, no matter how successful, could never -_

 

"As one cook to another, I will tell you the truth. I am a pirate. Part of a rather... _rambunctious_ crew too. Would you still be willing to come aboard - going under the command of another?"

 

 _Oh_ , no wonder you hesitated, but Ferro has never been one to care about law and order or morals. He has standards, and he tells you so. He would not lower himself to wanton murder or looting or ever assault anyone in any way - Ferro Rocher has a bottom line, it's just lower than most.

 

You agree to it, stating that your crew(- _and Ferro sees the pride and trust when you speak_ ) - would never condone such things.

 

"We seek freedom from the world - adventure, exploring, enjoying everything above and beyond the heavens - why would we ever limit ourselves to such despotic means?" You say in rhetoric - and those words are plenty enough to boost Ferro's imagination into overdrive.

 

What else you say sparks his dreams and determination - and Ferro can only proclaim his loyalty as his burgeoning admiration of you grows.

 

A part of him muses on how your captain must be to have such wonderful nakama(- _not 'crew', but 'nakama'; bonds forged through fire and steel, aged like fine whiskey and Ferro thinks he wants to be part of it too_ ). He wants a place to belong too; a  _family_.

 

Was he an old man living out his remaining years like a daredevil? A scion escaping the chains of nobility to experience the wild life? Or perhaps a marine disillusioned by the world?

 

None of the above, as Ferro soon finds out. Gol D. Roger is so much more than anything Ferro could have ever thought of - and though the Captain was the youngest of their founding crew( - _isn't that great? He gets to be a part of creating history!_ ), all can only have respect and awe for all that he acheived and would surpass -

 

\- but that's another tale for the future.

 

* * *

 

Oh, Roger has many crew members(- _countless, really_ ) throughout the years. He doesn't count them, but he remembers them all.

 

Knows them by name, by sight, or by touch.

 

They come and go. From different walks of life, some stay for a trip or two, others for a period of time, an the unfortunate handful, till death - but the majority, till _that day_ came.

 

Roger doesn't care if they want to leave; as long as they are consenting and truly wanting to do so without any sort of pressure from external sources, Roger would release them from duty( - _no matter how much it pained him_ ). He knows freedom, and his loyal crew deserves it.

 

_Besides, all he has ever needed are you and Rayleigh -_

 

"Surrender _now!"_

 

Ever fond of interruptions are the marines.

 

Said marines glare in an attempt to be threatening, though they came off as constipated in Roger's eyes.

 

Roger smirked, catching his crew's eyes.

 

They all nodded as one and raised their middle fingers in reply.

 

As the Captain, Roger proceeded to lead by mooning the marine's captain.

 

 _"Incorrigible!"_ The man shrilled, face red from anger and embarrassment.

 

Roger laughed. 

 

What an excellent crew he has!

 

( -  _he regrets nothing_.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Worldbuilding For The Casual Lore Readers 101::**  
>  As the Roger crew is canonically said to have a naming theme of rare metals for their founding members, I too keep in line with that. 
> 
> People like Indium Calabretta, Cobalt Peace, Ferro Rocher, etcetera are all original supporting characters to fill in the various roles, but they won't become a major part of this fiction anytime soon.
> 
> Everyone's names are pretty much references to the ongoing themes I have for them.
> 
> \- **Indium** [A rare metal] **Calabretta** [A mishmash of terms to associate with Indium's position as a gunner/sniper; _cala_ \- canna/'cannon' and _bretta_ in reference to the Beretta M9/Beretta shotguns]  
>  \- **Cobalt** [A type of metal] **Peace** [Reference to Charles Peace, the most famous cat burgler in history. Cobalt is a sniper first and secondary thief though.]  
> \- **Ferro Rocher** [Ferro means 'Iron' in Italian/Spanish, but the guy's entire name is my in joke for Ferrero Rocher chocolates. Reader pretty much hired him on the spot for the name. The part of him being a chef and inventor is just icing on the top... or should I say hazelnuts on the chocolate?]  
>  *if you're curious as to whether reader recreated ferrero rocher chocolates due to ferro, the answer is YES
> 
>  
> 
> *on a side note, you purposely go by different names to keep yourself low profile but you still follow the naming theme(e.g. Rhode[Rhodium], Ruth[Ruthenium], Mercury, ) but call yourself Houdini when wanting to be an ass
> 
>  
> 
> PS:: loving good food is why i'll end up in jail with my desire to taste the legendary ortolan


	19. interlude - 003

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **\+ 1 Hunter**  
>  **Personality:** Lonely  
>  **Ability:** Keen Eye, Dual Wielding ( **Hidden Ability:** Sarcasm)
> 
>  
> 
> *a loyal man with simple needs. Please feed and water as required.

Scopper Gaban is a simple man.

 

He dislikes trouble and leads a simple life of being a self-sufficient person to avoid it. Yet when a child of a man approaches him with a clear offer that would surely incite skyward chaos, his mouth unwittingly betrays him.

 

It's a magnetic attraction that draws Scopper to Roger, just like how craziness found their little crew at every turn.

 

He is still a simple man, wanting the simplest things in life - then again, what is easier and more complicated than freedom? 

 

Thrill-seeking isn't really in his blood - Scopper is a simple man, but he is willing to follow, observe and help his comrades turn over the world. He thinks he can come to love this craziness he is in though. Wrangling the captain back with Rayleigh's help when they get too overboard is one of the few things he doesn't really miss but can probably add to his resume.

 

It doesn't hurt that his Captain is humorous as he is strong(- _and foolhardy_ ) - and it doesn't matter that there are only two others apart from him.

 

Strength did not come in numbers after all, and Scopper knows capable people when he sees them. 

 

He is a hunter, a pirate - and a straightforward, simple, man at heart. That's all, really.

 

 ( _What a nice tale of Copper, Silver and Gold. Oh, and never forget, you - the legendary dark hand behind the curtains -_  )

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a side note, what does everyone think of the pacing so far? Have I been straying from the main trio too much or are these new additions alright? 
> 
> Opinions on how the crew's personalities -canon or not - should be is also accepted if it fits.
> 
> As usual, any and all suggestions of what you all may like to read would be lovely ~


End file.
